


Of Scales & Flesh

by PinkGloom



Category: Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, BAMF!John, Beauty & the Beast - Freeform, But Sherlock has human form in the castle, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Rotating POV, Sherlock can be a dick, Smauglock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 39,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGloom/pseuds/PinkGloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Smauglock Based on Beauty & the Beast. The villagers decide to attack the "dragon" and John is wounded in the process. He wakes up in an enchanted castle; having been taken prisoner of the creature. Slowly, an awkward friendship blossoms between the two...will it ever be more? Rated for smut, violence and occasional language</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's POV

There had been a time when everyone who took up residence at the castle was a human. The furniture didn't talk and there definitely hadn't been a dragon in the library. After years of mulling it over, Mycroft no longer found it difficult to pinpoint when it had all started to fall apart.

Their parents had always neglected them. He and his younger brother had grown up in luxury but in a deep seeded loneliness. Although their parents had never been present at the castle, knowing they were still out in the world, had filled Mycroft with a certain kind of comfort. It didn't last, though. It had only been meant as a year spent abroad, but their mother and father had died in a freak carriage crash, leaving the Holmes brothers alone in the world, with no living relatives.

Mycroft Holmes had been nineteen. His younger brother, Sherlock, had barely been twelve and had no memory of the parents who always neglected him. It filled the younger Holmes with bitterness, and a hatred that only children can know when they feel like they are completely alone in the world.

Although there was help at the castle, they were still that: the hired help. Mrs. Hudson did what she could in the place of a mother, Molly, the maid, did what she could to fill the castle with lightheartedness and Lestrade guarded them from outside threats. The years passed and the five residents of the castle began to make up a dysfunctional family.

Whatever happiness they did share was shattered one stormy night six years later. Lestrade brought a soaking wet villager into the castle and offered him a hot meal and lodgings for the night. When Sherlock came down for dinner and saw a stranger at the banquet table his reaction had been explosive.

He had demanded that the stranger be thrown out. If he, Mycroft, hadn't been busy with his paperwork maybe he could have stopped his brother; it was a thought that often swirled in his head and filled him with regret.

However, he hadn't been there. As Sherlock had been screaming at the man, the stranger had lowered his hood to the boy, revealing the emblem of Warlock on his forehead. The stranger then proceeded to chastise Sherlock for his cold and heartless demeanor. When Sherlock showed no remorse for his actions, the Warlock took action.

He decided to transform the impudent lad into the coldest creature he could think of: a dragon. Because the Warlock felt as if all the residents in the castle had neglected their duty in raising the boy correctly, he placed a powerful spell on them too. Transforming them.

Mycroft could still remember the shock he had received when he had first transformed; looking down to see wood instead of flesh. He had climbed down his office chair and ran to the closest mirror. Mycroft never told Sherlock, but the shock at his reflection, at seeing a clock instead of a man in the mirror, had caused him to faint.

The castle had never been filled with warmth and happiness before, but at least there had still been the occasional laugh, small moments of joy when Sherlock had been tolerable. Smiles exchanged between he and Mrs. Hudson; stolen laughs with Molly, now there was only tense silence and an undercurrent of worry.

The cloud of despair never lifted because Mycroft and all who lived there knew that the spell would never be broken. For the Warlock had given Sherlock one condition for him and everyone in the castle to become human again.

Sherlock had to find someone to love and to have his love returned. Before the spell became permanent, Sherlock had been granted two years to find the heart he lacked. The Warlock had given Sherlock a single rose to count down the time limit of the spell and a mirror, so that he could still view the world outside the castle. For although he retained a mostly human shape in the confidences of the castle, once he left the grounds, he became a full size dragon.

For the first six months, Mycroft had urged his brother to try and open himself to emotion- to the possibility of love.

But Sherlock had been too distressed at what had been done to him, and he withdrew into himself even farther; slipping into a deep depression. Mycroft feared that no one would ever be able to touch the heart of his brother.

And so another year passed and Mycroft lost all hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

Ever since the war, John Watson had lead a dull existence. It was the same routine, get up, have patients come to his house for a few hours, read and then sleep. Repeat. It wasn't that the villagers hadn't tried to make friends with him, for the first month he had been invited to the tavern almost daily.

But as time waned on, and he kept politely declining, the invitations ceased, and John's only company came in the form of colds and broken bones. When he did go down to the village, John kept to himself. He heard the whispers. The other villagers couldn't understand the strange army veteran who avoided them. John hadn't set out to be alienated, but after the war, his ability to carry on with small talk had become nonexistent. He was always restless; waiting for the excitement that he knew would never come his way again.

There was only one man who stubbornly refused to leave him alone. John continued to follow the rules of polite conversation with the man...soon it rubbed on his nerves. If he managed to successfully pick up his groceries without "bumping" into Moriarty, it was a pleasant day.

However, today wasn't one of those days. He had been too absorbed in his new medical journal and was caught unaware. "Hello John."

John halted at the sound of his name. With a grimace, he turned around to face the voice.  _Oh god, not today._ He plastered a blank smile on his face and set off to only exchange the bare minimum of words.

"Moriarty, good day."

John hid the journal into his grocery basket. The last thing he wanted to hear was the man's opinions on the uselessness of reading. Although they had both been in the war, their outlooks on life were completely different.

"Have you heard about the disappearances?"

John nodded his head.  _What was he talking about?_ "Yes, but, what of it?"

"We're forming a hunting party tonight and I figured you would want to join us...?"

Moriarty's hand came to rest on his shoulder. Ignoring his first instinct to knock it away, John absorbed the new information. "Really? Tonight? I'd love too." John could taste the adrenaline running through his veins at the promise of some excitement.

"Meet us at the tavern at 6pm. Bring your pistol and any other weapons. There's a rumor going around that its not a normal animal. Maybe even a monster." Moriarty's eyes flashed dangerously. He squeezed John's shoulder and walked away.

John fought down the urge to wipe down his shoulder.

* * *

The tavern was full of men when John walked through the doors. He recognized many faces and exchanged pleasantries. It struck John how many older men there were and he hoped that they could handle the hunt. There were only two doctors in the village, and if too many men were hurt, they could never care of all of them.

Moriarty stood up on the bar and gave a shout. All conversation ceased and heads swerved to him. "Gentlemen! There is a monster in the woods! Two men have disappeared in the last three months and there must be action! I don't know what our target is, but I believe it to be a bear or pack of wolves!"

Moriarty continued to rant on and John tuned him out. He had heard plenty "rally the troops" speeches in the army and he had no desire to hear another one. He was jarred out of his thoughts when all the men around him gave out a shout.

John raised his weapon and shouted with the others. He hoped to god he had made the right decision. This looked like it was going to be a witch hunt.

* * *

After an hour in the forest, John finally lost Moriarty in the thick woods. Although he knew it would be best to stay with the others, John wanted to separate from them. He had spotted a gigantic footprint and it had caught his interest. Instead of pointing it, he trailed behind.

Once he was alone, John made his way back to the spot and gaped at the imprint before him. It was impossibly large. It had three toe marks and from the size of the scrapes in the dirt, humongous claws. Now he knew they had made the wrong decision.  _Is it still here? What the hell makes prints like this? It's not a bear, wolf or anything..._  "earthly." John breathed out. It was a magically creature. John had heard of them on the battlefield, dragons and beasts that could eat a man whole.

How could he have ever guessed that something so outrageous would turn up at a sleepy village like this. John's pulse picked up and his breathing sped up. His vision cleared. He was back on the front lines.

Before John could yell out to warn the others, the forest erupted into a bright light. John covered his eyes and began to run towards the light and heat. There were shouts and when John finally broke through the last row of trees, the sight before him rooted him to the spot.

It was a dragon.

It was beautiful deep red color. Its scales shone in the moonlight. The spikes covering its tail glistened were blood had already covered it. Its mouth opened up and released a loud roar. Many of the villagers were still standing; surrounding it. The dragon had an arrow or two embedded in its back and it was breathing angry fire bursts at them. Through the chaos, John saw Moriarty leveling his gun to fire. He let off a single shot and then a flash of red blurred through him and he was knocked to the ground.

John gripped his gun and moved through the shadows. He was so close and yet John didn't fire. He had no idea how thick a dragon's hide could be, but he realized that firing a bullet at it would probably have little, if any, effect on it.

The others continued to fire; bullets and arrows littered the air. The dragon's tail flicked around again taking out another three villagers. John flinched. The monster's head darted about looking for other attackers. That's when it caught sight of John.

John fired off a shot before the gigantic tail swept John's feet out from underneath him. Pain shot up through his left leg and his body collapsed, a bundle of limbs on the hard ground.

John remained conscious long enough to see the dragon continuing to breath fire and swat its tail at the last remaining men. Then his world went black.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

_Smoke. A burning in his shoulder. John struggled to open his eyes, but he couldn't see through the tears blurring his vision. He could hear the calls of his comrades in arms. Shouts of fear, pain and retreat. He laid prone on the ground; his body weighted down by an invisible force._

_His fingernails scrapped at the earth, trying to run away from the oncoming army. With a bullet lodged in his left shoulder, commander John Watson of the fifth regiment, could only use his right arm to push is body forward and his progress was non-existent._

_Suddenly, the pain in shoulder was paired with an equality painful throbbing in his right leg. The sharpness of it began to build and he released a howl. The pain in his leg became blinding and eclipsed the dull hurt in his shoulder. John grabbed for his leg, and discovered a gapping hole in it. His thigh was gashed open and he could feel tendons, muscles, clenching and pulsating._

_Hot blood dripped around his fingers and John screamed releasing a cry of terror. It echoed in his ears as he began to scream without stopping. This was surely the end._

His eyes shot open.

Breathing heavily, John was blinded to the bedroom around him. In his mind, it was still a desert. John clenched his right hand shut and felt cool bed sheets scrap along his knuckles.  _One. Two. Inhale. One. Two. Exhale._ Recently, the panic attacks had been fewer and fewer, but John still knew the best way to calm his scattered nerves. Slowly, John was able to see the bedroom he was laying in and convince his mind that he was no longer in any immediate danger.

Soft sunlight was filtering through closed curtains. It took John only an instant to realize he had no idea where he was. His heartbeat began to pick up again. John closed his eyes from the alien surroundings and began to concentrate on his breathing again.

Once the fear had left him, John's body began to ache. It felt as if he had been trodden on by a horse, all of his muscles protested against movement and he knew his skin was littered with bruises. His hands examined his upper torso, face and each finger; making sure everything was still in place.

John tried to move his legs but was stopped instantly with a sharp pain racing up his left leg. Moving aside the blanket covering him, John lifted his head off his pillow to look down at his lower half. He bent his right leg, but when his eyes fell upon his left leg, John let out an involuntary cry of alarm.

It was a  _bloody_  mess. He had bandages, but they were discolored with dried caked blood. The white cocoon extended from his thigh all the way down to his ankle. There were red angry blotches all over it.  _How much blood have I lost?_ There was no way a trained professional had bandaged him in such a haphazard way. John remembered the dragon.

He laughed bitterly. The only one who could patch this up was himself. John was struck with a fear of calling out for help. What was he afraid of? This was just the house of one of the richer villagers...although it was a blatant lie, John desperately tried to believe it.

"Excuse me! Hello! Is anyone out there?" John turned his head to the door. He didn't have to wait long

The door swung open. When John tried to see who it was, the shadows covered them completely. The noises he heard were not human footfall. There was a scrapping sound and a light began to burn. John looked down. There was a clock and candelabra at the side of his bed.

John was too dumbstruck to be afraid. It wasn't so odd, but the way their faces... _Dear lord in heaven, those things have faces!_

The clock spoke. "Hello, I do hope you are feeling slightly better now. We tried to patch you up, but as you can see," the clock motioned to his small wooden hands," we are less than properly equipped for the task."

The candelabra which had three flames producing the small light, spoke. "Yes, we had hoped you hadn't lost too much blood. I was in the army before and I've seen men lose less than you and die." It shrugged its shoulders...or what John assumed were its shoulders.

"You served in the army?"

"Yes, although it was a lifetime ago." The middle candle, which had the face, gave John a smile. John could not control the shudder that ran through his body.

The clock cleared its throat. "Yes, well, down to business. I am Mycroft and this is Lestrade." The candelabra gave a small bow.

"I'm John Watson." John found himself answering from reflex.

"Pleasure. How down to brass tax, can you patch yourself up? I know its a nasty business, but there really isn't any other choice."

"Yes, there is. He's just being an arse." The candelabra spat out.

The clock, Mycroft, shoot its companion an evil glare. "That isn't an option and you know it." It turned back to John. "If I get you the bandages and ointment, can you?"

John nodded his head. "I'm a doctor."

Mycroft clasped (his?) its hands together. "Perfect!"

The candelabra blew out the two candlesticks that acted as its hands and bounced over to a small chest next to the bed. It brought the chest to John and lifted it up to him. John mumbled "thanks" and took it. He turned over in his bed and used his arms to scoot up.

John groaned in pain. Fresh red spots began to appear on the dirty bandages around his leg. John opened the chest. Thankfully, it had everything he needed. John grabbed the scissors and began to carefully cut open his bindings.

It was horrible. There were huge slashes across his thigh and calf. John sent out a silent prayer of thanks, because, even though there were more marks than he could count, a majority of them weren't terribly deep. If they had been, John was sure he would have gotten gangrene already and needed an amputation...or have bled out. John swallowed hard.

"Um, could you possibly bring me some hot water and dish clothes."

"I'll be back momentarily. Lestrade, you stay here." Mycroft waddled out of the room.

John continued to remove the bandaging in strips. Every fresh band being taken off made him exhale sharply through clinched teeth.  _Maybe I should have asked for whiskey too._

The candelabra made no move to speak to him again and John was more than content with the silence. He had many questions he wanted to ask, but there were more important tasks to concentrate on.

John soon heard the clink of porcelain and thumping of wood approaching his room. Lestrade had opened the curtains, so John was able to clearly see when Mycroft entered, with an arm full of dish towels, closely followed by a teapot and teacup. John's eyes widened in surprise.

It smiled up at him. "Oh, dearie! What a mess he did to you!"

Mycroft made a shushing noise, but John's interest was peaked. "Who?"

"That idiot." The teacup made a clicking noise with her tongue and jumped up onto the bed. "I've got the hot water right here. So just tip me over when you need it."

_Tip me over and pour me out._ John let out a small laugh when the teapot's words made him sing the last line of a popular nursery rhyme.

"Thank you."

John realized that the sheets were already a disaster, so he lifted the teapot up and began to run hot water over his wounds. He let out a hiss at the scolding water washing over his skin.

"So, who are you?"

John looked down to see the small teacup at his left side. It had a light feminine voice and it was full of wonder. It stared up at him in rapture. Despite his pain, John felt a blush tint his cheeks.

"No one, really. Just the village's main doctor. I was wounded and discharged from the army." He gave the teacup a smile. "Now, you, that's more interesting. What is all this?"

Putting down the teapot, John picked up a needle. "Please, feel free to expand on every detail. I have a hunch that this is going to be painful."

The teacup frowned.

"Molly is not at liberty to discuss this house. I, however, can offer you some answers." It was the polished voice of the clock.

Mycroft began his narrative as John sowed up his wounds.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

He snarled in disgust at the scene unfolding in front of him.

If throwing the mirror against the wall won't have broken his only bridge to the outside world, Sherlock would have thrown it, shattering it into a thousand little pieces.

It made his blood boil. The way they were fawning all over him. This... _John Watson._ What did they care if he survived? He was just another idiot villager. Someone, who had been stupid enough to attack him, when all he had been doing was collecting samples with Lestrade.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. He had been caught unawares and that was why he presently had two arrow wounds in his back. Although his tough dragon skin had protected him from most of the damage, it still stung like hell.

Sherlock took a hard look at the so called army doctor. He had sandy blonde hair and appeared to be the same age as himself. Sherlock snorted.  _Average._ He still couldn't believe that he had listened to Lestrade and brought the wounded man back to the castle.

He had had to drag him inside with two arrows digging into his upper right shoulder. Sherlock placed tentative fingers near his wound.  _He's a doctor._ Although, he was loath to admit, the attentions of a skilled doctor was probably exactly what he needed.

Sherlock watched transfixed as the man sowed up his own leg. John's eyes were set in a stern glaze. He listened as Mycroft told the stranger an extremely edited version of the enchantment that had turned them into talking furniture...and him into a monster.

Suddenly feeling sick, Sherlock placed the mirror back onto his dresser. Before he placed it down, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. It never ceased to shock and disgust him.

He was human and yet, not. Thankfully, the enchantment allowed him to stay semi-human inside the confines of the castle and grounds, but outside it, oh, outside, was a completely different story.

His skin would bubble up and his bones would burn. His whole body would transform. It was a painful process but he had been able to learn how to live with the pain. When he had finally learned to fly, the anticipation for that moment, when his body could leave the restrictions of the earth behind, almost made it worth never breaking the spell.

And yet...

Sherlock gritted his teeth.  _Love._ Of everything that damned Warlock could have thought of for him to break the spell, why did it have to be that?. Why couldn't it have been a puzzle? A riddle? Something, anything, instead of weak, feeble emotion.

Oh, he had been weak. When he saw that stranger laid out on the bed, the first human he had set eyes on in almost two years, he had felt a stirring in his chest. Sherlock relished in the memory of it; his firm body against his chest, the shallow breathing and the sound of a heartbeat.

Sherlock let out a groan. His claws reached out and smashed the remains of what had once been a bed. His room was in shambles- victim to his erratic and violent temper. The only items that remained intact in his room where his experiments. They were all that mattered to him now. His work. His problems. It was the only activity that could...block the loneliness.

He was going to have to face the 'prisoner' sooner or later. John Watson now knew where his castle was, he couldn't be allowed to leave and bring back the villagers to destroy it. To destroy him. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat.  _He has to stay here with me._

Sherlock quickly told himself that the only reason he was excited was because something new was happening. Finally, after so much stagnation in his life, there was an unknown factor. He was going to take great pleasure in taking it apart.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's POV

Mycroft continued with his narrative. He tried to convince himself, that he wasn't lying, more bending the truth or leaving out the unnecessary details, if anything. Honestly, he wondered how many words were actually being absorbed by the man who was sowing up his own leg.

The man before him kept surprised him. Mycroft had half been expecting John to try and run away. But instead, he seemed to take it all rather calmly.

Mycroft had tried to talk to another humans before. Once he had exchanged letters, with a young man, and when he had finally arrived (a vein attempt to find his brother a lover) the man had ran away screaming like a banshee. After that, Mycroft had tried to tell the men he was corresponding with about the curse in the letters, but after that, there never came a reply. Two months later, he had given up completely.

"...and so, here we are. Cursed to stay as objects until the enchantment is broken."

"How can you break it?" John asked without taking his attention away from his leg.

"I can't tell you. If I did, it would make the spell permanent." Besides, he figured that would scary away the doctor without a doubt. Mycroft could just hear it,  _Just fall in love with my brother. He's a heartless bastard, but really quite sweet._ No, it was better this way. Although he tried to snuff it, there was a light of hope burning even brighter in his chest.

John put the needle down and began to apply fresh bandages. He hissed through clenched teeth as he wrapped it around his leg. Mycroft was secretly happy that it was a leg wound. It would make escape impossible, at least for a while, and maybe, in that time, this man could fall in love with Sherlock.

Lestrade nudged him. Mycroft turned to him and saw the growing smile on the guard's face. Lestrade's features screamed.  _This is it! What we've been waiting for!_ Mycroft nodded but he found that he couldn't return the smile. He was optimistic but he wasn't unrealistic.

Mycroft was about to open his mouth again when the bedroom door slammed open.

All heads turned, except for Mycroft's, to the figure in the doorway. He knew exactly who it would be, there was only one person  _it_ could be. Mycroft sighed.

He watched as all the color drained from John's face. Mycroft applauded him, the doctor didn't release one scream. Instead, John's eyebrows knitted together and he frowned. "What the hell are you?"

Mycroft cringed. This promised to be interesting.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John stared in shock at the figure in the doorway. It was a man...yet, not one. He was tall and slim. He had a crown of dark black curls and John could see two horns peeking out from them. Although some of his skin was pale and white, the majority of it was crimson red. John saw scales and his blood began to turn cold.

But they weren't the most shocking feature of the man's appearance. It was his eyes. Instead of round pupils, they were cat-like, piercing, gray and unsettling. John didn't like the way those eyes were gliding over his figure. He knew that the creature was sizing him up.

"What the hell are you?" As the words escaped him, John realized he'd made a horrible mistake. The sudden appearance of the creature had sent him off kilter and his mouth had blurted it out before his brain could stop him.

The creature's mouth turned up in a disgusted sneer. "What does it look like I am, doctor? A monster? Creature? Abomination against God? Please, take your pick."

The rich sound of his voice reverberated inside John's body. It was incredibly deep and John found that no other tone would have suited the creature before him. John felt a shiver, but from fear or excitement he couldn't tell.

"How do you know I'm a doctor?" John asked lamely.

"Well, you did just patch up your own leg. Not many people can do that." His voice sounded bored. He made no move to step into the room.

"I suppose it's obvious when you put it that way." Despite his better judgement, John let out a chuckle.

A shadow of a smile danced across the creature's face. Then the stone rigidity was back in place. "Yes, obvious."

"What isn't obvious to me is why I'm here. Why didn't the dragon kill me?"

This caused the man to slam his fist against the wall. John jumped, shocked by the sudden violent action.

"Oh, yes! Because he's a dragon he must be a murderer! It would never cross anyone's mind that  _maybe_ he was minding his own business? That, completely unprovoked, he had an arrow buried into his shoulder! DOES IT?!" The last part was violently screamed and fire explodedfrom his mouth. He was shaking with anger and his fists were clenched at his sides.

"You're the...dragon?" The outburst had surprised him, but to think, the man before him was claiming to have been the dragon from the day before. Out of everything extraordinary that had ever happened to John, he still found it impossible to believe.

"Yes, you sad excuse for a human being. That was me! Lord of this castle, Sherlock Holmes." He gave John a mock bow; all the while his piercing gaze remaining.

John's surprise faded only to be replaced with was he to speak in such a rude manner? "Charmed. When can I leave?"

"Never."

John's eyes grew wide. "Excuse me?"

"You're my prisoner now. You can never leave here." His lips thinned and he gave John a hard look, daring him to argue.

"You can't keep me here!" In a rage, John tried to get out of bed, only to be stopped when he went to move his left leg. He let a howl of surprise and gripped his leg.  _Damn it!_ John realized that he was in no shape to fight the creature. He couldn't even stand up.

"Oh, I can and I will." Sherlock walked into the room. He loomed over John. His hand came out and touched John's left leg. It was the ghost of a touch. "Don't ever question me, doctor." He reached out, clamping his hand around John's thigh. John gasped out in pain.

Nails dug deep into his upper thigh. John could only watch in stunned silence as small pools of blood began to gather around each of Sherlock's digits. He squeezed tighter and John screamed out in pain.

* * *

It had been two days since that encounter. After he had caused John to cry out, Sherlock had run from the room and slammed the door behind him. The walls had shook and John had heard a bit of wood crack in the door. The scene kept replaying in his head. With nothing else to occupy his time, John took to dissecting what had happened.

John frowned.  _What a prat. What a self-absorbed child._ Although Mycroft had answered his question in the affirmative, John still refused to believe that man who called himself Sherlock Holmes was also a full blooded dragon.

Dragons were otherworldly creatures, but he had never heard of one taking on human form. If fact, they stayed  _dragons._ What made him so special? _But this is an enchanted castle; doesn't that point to anything being possible here?_ Being a medical man, foremost, John staunchly refused to believe it.

John's hand moved unconsciously to the claw marks on his upper had begun to heal over but it still stung. Hell, his whole leg was one bundle of raw nerves. Every movement sent up a fresh wave of pain.  _Dragon or not, he's still a monster. What kind of person does that? Harms a man that clearly can't fight back?_

John closed his eyes. Being trapped inside a room with nothing to do was making him stir crazy. While he did sleep most of the day away, it did nothing to alleviate the boredom when he was awake. Most of his time was spent by trying to figure out an escape route, but with no idea what the rest of the castle interior looked like, it was an exercise in futility. John's strength was slowly returning but the pain kept him rooted in place. No matter what, with his legs in tatters, it was useless.  _It's going to take months to escape._  John groaned at that thought of the upcoming months ahead.

The only break in his day were meals and the occasional visit from the dishware. Mrs. Hudson, the teapot, and Molly, the cute little teacup, had supplied him with company as often as they could, but John had a feeling they were being kept away from him.

One visit that had broken the route had come from Mycroft. He had asked forgiveness for his brother's rash behavior. John had starchily refused to give it. The clock had left in a right old mood and it had brighten John for the rest of the day.

On day three, John was broken from his thoughts when the door slowly opened. It was Mycroft. He wobbled up to John's bed. Before the clock could talk, John asked the question that had gnawing at him all day. "It was his fault, wasn't it?"

Mycroft tried to hide it, but John caught the fear that flicked in his eyes for a moment. "I suppose no matter what I say, you'll believe what you want to."

"I'll take that as a yes." John smiled bitterly. If possible, John found he hated Sherlock Holmes even more. No matter what, he had a find a way to escape.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock took another swipe at his bed. He stopped only when a sharp pain drew all of his attention to his shoulder.  _It's infected and you know it._ Sherlock squeezed his eyelids shut until it was painful.  _How can I go back? After I..._

Sherlock cringed at the memory. It hadn't been how he wanted their first meeting to go. Afterward, Mycroft had chastised him 'treating a person is such a fashion...!' and Sherlock had batted him away. Lestrade had continued to yell after him; gripping the unconscious Mycroft. Sherlock didn't look back once, he had no time to listen to their mothering prattle.

Three days later and Sherlock continued to sulk in his room refusing all company or meals. He hated to admit it, but his stomach was finally starting to distract him. But he had more important concerns on his mind other than nourishment.

Sherlock threw an angry look at the hand mirror on his dresser. After an internal struggle, Sherlock walked over and lifted it up.

"Show me the doctor."

The mirror emitted a soft green light and with a sparkle, the flat surface gleamed, showing Sherlock the object of his frustration.

John was sitting up, talking to Mycroft. "I assume, even before the spell, he was a bastard."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. "You must understand Dr Watson..."

"Understand what? That 'although he was born into a life of wealth and comfort, he's just a tortured soul'," John spat out the words, "No, Mycroft. A posh  _ass_ , is what he is. A heartless bastard, no matter what form he takes."

"You make quick assumptions, doctor."

"It's not an assumption. And I can tell from the expression on your face that you know it."

Mycroft looked ruffled and offered no argument.

Sherlock stared at the mirror, not at all surprised at the conversation unfolding in front of him. No matter how he tried to divorce himself from his emotions, Sherlock could still feel the vice tightening in his chest. His twelve year old self, echoing in his ears as he cried out for the parents that were no longer there.

His brother's voice brought him back to the present, "If you just got to know him, maybe you could learn to understand." By the end, his voice had faded off to almost a whisper.

"Get to know him? I want nothing to do with him!" John's face was filled with disgust and he spat out the words.

In what was becoming an all too often accordance, Sherlock placed the mirror down with a sick feeling resting in the pit of his stomach.  _He'll never see me as anything more than a monster._

* * *

A day later, Sherlock knew he could no longer ignore the wounds that were beginning to fester on his back. No matter how hard he tried, there were still bits of arrow lodged in his shoulder and they were becoming infected.

Both Lestrade and Mycroft had tried to pick them out, but the shards were in too deep for their small, unskilled hands to reach. What he needed was a doctor.

* * *

"Come in."

Sherlock could only assume that the only reason John's tone was calm was because he thought Sherlock was someone else. His suspicions were confirmed when the smile that had been on John's lips dropped into a frown as soon as the door was fully opened.

"What do you want?"

Sherlock tightened this hands into fists.  _Control. Control yourself._ He narrowed his eyes and bit at his upper lip, holding in a snide remark. With as much politeness, as he could muster, Sherlock said, "I have a wound in my shoulder, and seeing as your a doctor, I demand that you see to it."

"Is that so?"

_The audacity of this man! If I didn't need him conscious to tend to my shoulder..._ Sherlock relished in a quick daydream of wrapping his claws around the impudent man's neck and tightening his grip, just enough.

"Yes."

Sherlock shut the door behind him and locked it. John gulped. Sherlock walked over to the bed and stared down at the doctor. He met Sherlock's threatening look, their eyes locked, each daring the other to bend under the weight of it. John blinked and his resolve crumbled.

"You're lucky I still honor my hippocratic oath."

Sherlock snorted.

"Well, take off that coat. I have the kit over here." John reached over to his nightside table.

Sherlock paused, uncertainly crashing down on him like a wave.  _I never thought about that. I have to take my clothes off. He has to look at my...scales._ Sherlock hated his half-formed body with a fierce passion. The bits of him, where flesh and scale collided, to make a disjoined portrait of what his body should be. Sherlock had once tried to pull out some of his scales, the pain had been beyond belief and he had never tried again.

Looking away, Sherlock removed his coat and began to unbutton his shirt. Sherlock decided if he had to take off his clothes, then he was going to take off the bare minimum. He laid his coat over a chair and slipped his shirt off his shoulders but didn't untuck it from his trousers.

He heard the man behind him give a small gasp. Sherlock felt bile in his throat, he knew exactly what would come next. _They're all the same._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty's POV

_We never found his body. We never found his body._ The thought kept circling around in Moriarty's mind. He had been unconscious when the dragon had finally fled and had eventually woken up on the forest floor with the worst headache imaginable.

Amazingly, he was relatively unharmed...others weren't as lucky. He was at the third funeral that day. Many of the older men had succumb to their wounds. If the villagers hadn't been up in arms about the dragon before, they were now.

Moriarty didn't care about the others. Let them weep and carry on. He was formulating a plan. He would kill that dragon. Destroy it utterly for taking away the only semi-interesting person in the village.

True, John Watson had been average, but he had been immune to his charm. The rest of the villagers were pawns in his hands, willing participants to whatever he concocted. Oh, but John had been different. He had demands answers, a motive other than just 'Moriarty wants this.'

At first it had angered him, then excited him.

Moriarty placed a comforting hand on the man next to him. "Sebastian, can I talk to you after the funeral?"

The man simply nodded his head; they were burying his father.

Moriarty smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.  _Dragon you made a mistake when you crossed me. Count down your days. Because, I owe you._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John stared transfixed.

As a medical man, the body in front of him intrigued him. He had never seen such a sculptured figure before. Sherlock Holmes didn't have an ounce of body fat on him. Every plane of him was a sharp angle. The white porcelain of his skin was broken up with patches of crimson scales. Among the skin and scales, two angry slits ran parallel between his shoulder blades. John squinted his eyes and saw bumps running up where his spinal column was located. Although normally a person with his lean physique would have vertebrae showing, these were nothing like John had seen before. They protruded up awkwardly high and looked sharp to the touch; John wondered vaguely if he should call them "spikes".

As a military man, the gash on Sherlock's shoulder made him cringe. He couldn't see too clearly because of the bandaging, but John remembered the arrows he had seen sticking out of the dragon. It looked as if the wound had started out relatively small and shallow, but because he hadn't tended to it right away, infection had made the outline of the two small holes angry and red. The once white bandages were covered with red stains and there was something that looked horribly like puss.

A third part of his psyche, that normally remained dormant, demanded the last bit of his attention. As a man, John had never seen anything so horrifyingly beautiful. John's fingers ached to touch the expanse of skin before him and not purely in a medical fashion. The thought of touching the creature called Sherlock had only frightened him before, but now it excited him.

"Amazing." The word breathed through John's lips before he could stop it.

The air was tense and neither man spoke for a long moment. John's mind tried to grasp for something,  _anything_ that he could say that could explain what he had just muttered out loud.

As John opened his mouth, Sherlock spoke. "Sickening." It came out barely above a whisper.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's what they all said." Sherlock continued to have his back facing the doctor. John could see Sherlock's shoulders tense.

"They said that? I mean, Mycroft and Molly?" It didn't seem possible. Even though Sherlock was an ass, his brother had defended him and the others spoke of him fondly, always with an underlying sadness. The thought of any of them calling their Lord, 'sickening' seemed impossible.

"They don't have to say it out loud. Their faces say it loud enough." Sherlock's voice was lined with bitterness.

It was obvious, from what skin still remained, that Sherlock had once been a nearly flawless man- at least physically. Now, however...John wondered. While it was true that he wasn't the definition of conventional beauty, there was still something that left one feeling awestruck.

Not that John would ever say that aloud.

He had seen monsters, terrors in the night that would make one want to claw their eyes out. Fear so great that comrades in arms had blown their brains out before living another day with the images burned in their memory. Nightmares that haunted one in the night; when there was no escape.

Sherlock Holmes was heartless and off-putting, but he was hardly the stuff of nightmares. At least to a solider like John Watson. He sighed with resignation.

"Yes, you sod. It's really quite amazing."

Sherlock finally turned around to face John. Sherlock's face was a blank mask but he quirked an eyebrow in question.

"I've seen stuff, yeah? Real monsters. Images that haunt a man. Hate to break it to you, but you're hardly made of the stuff that would give me restless nights. In fact, this down bed has been the best night's sleep I've gotten in ages."

John chuckled at the confused look on Sherlock's face.

"You may be a 'monster' but you're not a ferocious beast. Not today, at least." John beckoned Sherlock over. "Now come here. That shoulder looks infected. This is going to sting."

Sherlock snorted and walked the distance to the bed, so that he could stare down his nose directly at John. "You're surprising, doctor."

"Yeah, I'm bloody mysterious, aren't I? Now come on. Pull up that chair and sit down. I can't move my leg, so we're going to have to do this at an odd angle."

Sherlock wordlessly complied. John took up his scissors and began to cut away the sad attempt at bandaging on Sherlock's back. When they were all removed, John shook his head at the mess before him.  _He should have come to me sooner._ But John knew that it had only been the last three days that had softened his resolve. He hated helping the creature, but he was so bored that the opportunity to do anything was appealing, even if it was helping the thing that had made him a temporary invalid.

John began to dab at the wound cleaning it with the hot water that Mrs. Hudson had left for tea earlier. Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth, but he kept quiet. John picked up a pair of tweezers, slowly taking out the stubborn pieces of arrow.

After an especially deep piece, Sherlock howled out and started to move his shoulder away from John's hand. He had placed a steadying hand around Sherlock's shoulder and, in an attempt to calm his movements, John's other hand shot out and fanned out onto the top of Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock hissed at the unwelcome contact. John's mind was momentarily muddled at the first feel of scales under his fingers. They were surprisingly cold and hard. They vaguely reminded John of fish scales, but without the slimy texture.

"You need to sit still. I could accidentally break off a piece in your shoulder and that will make a whole other mess of problems." John's voice was firm.

"It  _stings_!" Sherlock bit out the last word.

John kept his voice steady. He took the tone he used when speaking with his younger patients. "It will all be over in a minute, if you just sit still."

Sherlock stilled his movements, but John didn't move his hand back to the clamped position it had once been on Sherlock's shoulder. Instead he let it rest open-palmed on alternating warm and cool spots on Sherlock's front. John could feel his heartbeat. Although its pace was quicker than a normal human heart, John wasn't sure if that was because nervousness or the fact that Sherlock was half-dragon.

_Or full dragon, I really don't know. He's such an odd man._ John's hand stopped momentarily at the thought and a twinge of guilt struck him. _I've been calling him a 'creature' but he's not really one, is he? It's the enchantment. Underneath all the scales, he's still a man. Just a man._

"Doctor?"

John realized with a start that he had been staring off into space. All the implications of Sherlock and what he was and the magic behind all of it had struck John full force. He was in an  _enchanted_  castle with a man that was  _half-dragon._ Wasn't this what he had been waiting for? He had been lamenting his dull existence and he had been handed adventure on a silver platter; he had just been too annoyed to notice it.

"There that should be the last of the arrow. I just need to sanitize it again and re-bandage the area."

John worked in silence until he couldn't keep quiet any longer. "So, what happened anyway?Why did the Warlock enchant all of you?" John knew he was treading in dangerous waters, but he genuinely wanted to know.

"I thought Mycroft told you all of that?"

"How did you know that?"

Sherlock tensed for only a fraction of a second before he answered. "You do realize that I know everything that goes on in my castle?"

"Oh." John supposed he should have.

"I don't see how it's any of your business."

John sighed. "God, you are making this so difficult. I'm trying to start a conversation. Obviously, I can't ask 'How's your day going?' or 'How are the wife and kids?', so I'm working with the only information I have about you."

"Small talk isn't really my area."

"It wasn't really mine before either but hell, I'm bored." John laughed. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

Sherlock turned his head to the side and their eyes locked. John saw how light and shadow danced in his cat like eyes. "You do surprise me, John."

John noticed another non-human feature on his captor. His tongue was forked at the tip.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock wanted to hold his breath, but he knew that the doctor would notice, so he paced his breathing, trying desperately to detach himself from the situation. Despite his best efforts it wasn't working...nothing was working.

His skin still lit up at the slightest brush of the doctor's fingers on his shoulder or chest. Sherlock had almost shivered when John's fingers had fanned out on his skin with such ease and confidence. He had been so sure that once the doctor had seen his scales, he would have refused to treat him, but he had surprised Sherlock.

It had been years since the touch of another person's skin had been on his. True, the others were all there, but they were made of wood, wax, and porcelain- nothing compared to the rush of soft flesh. Even before he had become what he was today, Sherlock had always disliked touch and so few people had ever touched him.

Sherlock's mind began to wander to his mother. Hadn't she once held him? Rocked him to sleep after a terrible nightmare or held his hand when they went to pick wild flowers? He couldn't clearly remember anymore. Years of bitterness and rage had twisted the memory of his parents. Who they had really been, Sherlock couldn't remember anymore.

Sherlock was brought out of thoughts when he realized the doctor was stroking his skin. It was an absentminded motion and Sherlock realized that the other man was a million miles away. Sherlock let the fingers dance on him and didn't bother to disturb John.

_John Watson. The doctor. The soldier. John._ Who was this enigma who didn't cower in fear and instead had steel in his eyes? Sherlock found that he wanted to know. Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on the skin that was burning from the light trails being traced on his body.

"Doctor?"

John started, coming out of his trance.

"There that should be the last of the arrow. I just need to sanitize it again and re-bandage the area."

Sherlock let an unaccustomed wave of emotion consume him. His touch just felt so...

Suddenly, John asked, "So, what happened anyway? Why did the Warlock enchant all of you?"

Sherlock stopped the biting remark that threatened to escape from his mouth, but he couldn't stop being petulant. "I thought Mycroft told you all that?"

"How did you know about that?"

Sherlock tensed for a second out of surprise; internally he cursed himself. He really needed to be more careful. "You do realize that I know everything that goes on in my castle?" Sherlock hoped that would satisfy him.

"Oh."

"I don't see how it's any of your business."

"God, you are making this so difficult. I'm trying to start a conversation. Obviously, I can't ask 'How's your day going?' or 'How are the wife and kids?', so I'm working with the only information I have about you." John sounded irritated.

"Small talk isn't really my area." It was true. Sherlock usually avoided all conversation if possible. It was so predictable.

"It wasn't really mine before either, but hell, I'm bored." John laughed. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing. After everything, John was still trying to start a conversation with him? He turned his head so he could get a look at John Watson. He really was horribly average, but there was something else there underlying who John was- a true depth of character. Sherlock was beginning to wonder if he had misjudged the man.

Their eyes met and Sherlock was stunned to see how open and blue John's eyes were. They certainly didn't look like they were being anything but sincere. "You do surprise me, John." Sherlock found he liked using the other man's name.

John stared at him, unsure for a minute and then averted his eyes by going back to work on his shoulder. "I'm really nothing special."

"The Warlock had a problem with my  _attitude_ , so he thought doing this would teach me a lesson."

"I can't see it's really helped all that much." John said, quietly.

"I heard that." Sherlock exhaled. "The spell is supposed to last for two years. I only have six months left."

"Then you can be human again?"

"Yes." Sherlock didn't think John needed to know every detail.

"Are you excited? I mean, about being human again?"

John shifted and Sherlock instantly missed the warm hand that had been on his chest. John began to wrap the bandage around him. "Being human is dull."

John snorted. "I suppose to someone like you it would be."

Sherlock took the cloth from John and wrapped it around his front then handed it back to the doctor. "Can I leave when you're human again?"

The question hung in the air between them. Sherlock's face twisted in anger, unable to believe that John had had the audacity to ask to leave again.  _Why would he ever want to stay here with me?_ Sherlock cursed internally at himself. When John handed the bandage back, Sherlock grabbed his hand instead.

"You can never leave." Sherlock squeezed John's hand hard. The other man flinched but Sherlock didn't let up his grip. "Don't you ever ask me that again."

There was a small ache in Sherlock's chest and he knew it was because he had begun to hope that maybe John was different. Maybe he could talk to him as a person, but he had been wrong. It hurt Sherlock more than he had expected.

He released the doctor's hand and John finished bandaging him up. Sherlock left without another word.

* * *

It had been a week since John had asked to leave again. Mycroft had tried to talk to Sherlock, but he had thrown the remains of his dresser at his older brother. Sherlock was sulking in the library when he heard the clink of porcelain on the tile floor.

"Leave me alone, Mrs. Hudson."

"My Lord, I wanted to talk to you about Master John." Molly's voice came out in a quiet whisper.

Sherlock looked up from his book. Molly was staring up at him timidly. Bending down at the waist, Sherlock extended his hand down and Molly jumped into his hand. "What?" He tried to keep a straight face, but he was curious about what she had to say.

"He's been asking about you. About your shoulder," Molly said.

"So?" Sherlock found something interesting to focus on a shelf to his right.

"He seems to really...care. I think Master John wants to talk to you again."

"Why would he want to do that?" Every time they talked, Sherlock lost his temper. It would make no sense to want to continue a relationship like that.

Molly was quiet and Sherlock finally turned his head to look down at the small teacup in his hand. Sherlock realized with a start that Molly wasn't doing this for herself. Even though she had everything to gain by twisting their emotions and putting the two of them on speaking terms again, she wasn't. Molly honestly and truly cared about him. Sherlock's resolve crumbled.

"I'll visit him when I'm done with my book." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Really?" Molly sounded more stunned than surprised. It was obvious by her tone, that she really hadn't been expecting Sherlock to be convinced so easily.

"Thanks, Molly."

She offered him a small smile and he lowered his hand. Molly hopped away. Once he was alone again, Sherlock realized what he had just promised he would do. Sherlock pushed his book away, no longer able to concentrate.

* * *

An hour later, Sherlock was standing in front of John's bedroom door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in."

Slowly opening the door, Sherlock stepped in. John stared at him, confused.

"I need new bandages." Sherlock pulled up a chair and began to unbutton his shirt.

John shook his head, clearing out his head. "You should have come yesterday." He reached around toward his nightstand for the chest with the bandages.

Sherlock nibbled at the inside of his cheek. The look on Molly's face flashed in Sherlock's mind and for once, in a long time, Sherlock swallowed his pride. "I apologize for the way I behaved."

Sherlock could tell there was an internal conflict happening with the doctor. Sherlock remained silent as he waited for John's answer.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"Please call me Sherlock." The words were out before he could stop them

"Sherlock." John tested the word. "I was wondering if you had a crutch that I could use. I'm beginning to experience some extreme cabin fever despite the books...and company. I think my leg might be able to handle me walking around if I keep it limited."

"You have to promise not to try and escape." Sherlock should have threatened him. Should have told John that if he tried to leave, Sherlock would tear off his leg. But Sherlock found that he wanted to explore this hesitant friendship that was beginning to form.

"I promise." John's voice was unreadable.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't all so hopeless after all.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

Sherlock helped John make his first tentative steps out his bedroom for the first time in almost two weeks. John only made it a foot outside the door before the pain in his leg became too unbearable and he had to hobble back to his bed.

John placed the crutch next to his nightstand. He tried to keep the disappointment out of his face, but damn, he had wanted to walk again. As a doctor, he knew his recovery time would take longer, but still, he had been hopeful.

Sherlock eyed John for a moment before he shut the door behind him.

* * *

The next few days, whenever there was a knock at the door John hoped that it would be Sherlock. However, it was always everyone but him. John had no idea when this change in attitude had overcome him. Only a week ago the sight of the other man's face would make him cringe, but now...John touched the spot on his leg where Sherlock's claws had dug into his skin.  _I'm not sure about anything anymore. Does it really matter?_ John tried not to examine his thoughts too much, but with nothing else left to do, he found that it occupied his time all too frequently.

He was sipping tea quietly with Mrs. Hudson one afternoon when, after a day's worth of depressing thoughts had circled around his head, John couldn't help but ask, "Why is he filled with so much hate?"

"What?"

"I don't really know what I mean. It's just..." John stared down at his tea trying to find the answer in its brown depths. John had seen war twist men's personalities. Some men were never the same after they had killed another person. Sherlock though, he had everything. Wealth, others around him cared for him; what right did Sherlock have to hate everyone with such a passion? Was he just a spoiled brat?

"Oh, dear. Um, Sherlock, he's just...the young Lord isn't very good with people. After his parents died..." Mrs. Hudson stopped mid-sentence, realizing she'd said too much.

John nodded. It looked like if he wanted the truth he would have to ask Sherlock. John wondered if that line of questioning would get him another set of bloody claw marks on his leg.

* * *

John was beginning think he would never see the elusive Sherlock again. As if hearing John's thoughts, the man himself, appeared in the doorway. Sherlock began to unbutton his shirt.

A blush crept up John's cheeks even though he knew Sherlock only needed his bandages changed. He moved the chair to the side of John's bed and sat down. The doctor wordlessly removed the bandages. Thankfully, the wound was healing nicely and it looked as if Sherlock was safe from infection.

"How are you?"

Once John untangled his thoughts, he realized Sherlock had been addressing him. "Honestly? I'm bored to tears."  _Might as well be truthful._

Sherlock began to fidget, but it wasn't from pain. John was sure Sherlock was having an internal battle, so he continued to patch up Sherlock without inquiring as to why he had been asked such an out of character question.

"Would you like to leave this room?" Sherlock asked, quietly.

"Oh God, yes." John hoped he sounded desperate enough. He really was incredibly bored.

"I made...I mean, I found a wheelchair and if you would feel so inclined, you can use it." Sherlock kept his eyes staring straight ahead of him.

"That sounds fantastic. Let me finish this up." John couldn't believe his luck.  _Anything, just anything so I can leave his room!_

Once John was done, Sherlock stood up and walked back out into the hallway. He brought in a wooden wheelchair. It looked like it might fall apart at any moment, but John slipped into it without compliant.

He was about to push himself, but suddenly he began to move. John looked up to see Sherlock pushing him. Curiosity getting the best of him, John asked, "So where are we heading?"

"We can only stay on this floor, so we're limited. However, I have some experiments I'm conducting and I had Mycroft bring up some select books from the library that you might be interested in."

John couldn't decipher anything from his tone. If anything, Sherlock just sounded bored.

They made their way through the hallway and John caught his first real look of the castle since arriving there. Although there had been light streaming into his bedroom window, the inside of the castle was dark. There was a royal blue carpet lining the hallway and rows of armor lined either side. John was shocked to see how the pristine the castle was considering no one ever visited. John had the feeling it was more Mycroft than Sherlock who cared about the condition of the castle. There was a staircase to his right and John was thrilled to think about when he could walk down it.

They arrived at a door to the left and Sherlock opened it. Sherlock wheeled him in and John had to keep a gasp from escaping his lips; he hadn't been expecting such an inviting atmosphere. There was a small fire in the fireplace and the room was pleasantly warm compared to his bedroom. There was a stack of books next to a small desk. To the right of the desk, there was a chemistry set out on a bigger table. John assumed it was the "experiment" Sherlock had spoken of.

Sherlock came to a stop next to the books and John picked up one of them up. It was a medical journal. This time John couldn't stop a gasp from escaping his lips. "You have medical books?"

Sherlock turned his head and frowned. "I have a full library here at Baker Castle."

"You do?"

"Yes."

John's chest glowed with a soft warmth, but he kept the smile from his lips. Sherlock owed him this, but he could at least be grateful. "Thank you."

Sherlock finally turned to look at him. "I thought you would like it." He cleared his throat, walked over to the chemistry set, and picked up a beaker.

John wondered if the redness he had seen on Sherlock's cheeks had been from embarrassment or the warm fire.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's POV

"But will it be enough?"

Mycroft was in his office going over files when Lestrade had knocked on the door. He had let in the solider, and they quietly shared a pot of tea and slices of pound cake together. Mycroft knew the question was rhetorical, so he only shrugged his shoulders and continued to nibble on a piece of cake.

Lestrade sighed. Their friendship was a new one, only brought on by the events that had changed almost the entire castle into household items. Mycroft had never been rude to Lestrade, but they had had their roles in the castle and so rarely interacted outside of official castle business.

Early into the enchantment, Mycroft had broken down one night after too much sherry. Lestrade had been their to comfort him. Lestrade had held him and they had sat in each other's arms until Mycroft had fallen asleep. He had woken up to an empty office and a blanket thrown over him. After awkward morning greetings in the kitchen, Mycroft had wanted to understand the man behind the guard's uniform.

Their friendship wasn't easy at times, but it was comforting and Mycroft had needed that more than he had realized. Mycroft gave a smile to the candelabra sitting across from him. "Has there been anyone snooping too close to the castle?"

"No. I have a notion that they're looking in caves for a dragon and not a castle."

Mycroft lifted his head and stared momentarily at the ceiling. "Or anywhere with gold."

"Um?" Lestrade questioned after taking a bit of cake.

"Nothing, just an old wives' tale," Mycroft said. "Anyway, we have more important developments to consider."

"I know." Lestrade smirked. "I still can't believe he made that contraption. I hope it doesn't collapse when Dr. Watson is sitting it."

Mycroft nodded. "I'm still in shock. I've never seen him spend time on something that was for another person. It's not love, but it's certainly not hate. Thank God you saved him."

"He looked as if he would bleed out without some medical attention. I had expected Lord Holmes to refuse, but I think the sight of so much blood silenced his arguments." Lestrade frowned.

Mycroft knew that the guard still hadn't forgiven himself for what had happened on that day. Lestrade had been keeping an eye on his brother, but everything had occurred so fast. One minute they had been collecting samples and the next arrows had been flying through the air.

"No one blames you, Lestrade. Hell, if there was anyone to blame, it would be me for getting us into this mess." Mycroft knew he was allowing himself to wallow in self-pity, but he didn't care.

Lestrade gave him a stern look. "None of that now. This will work itself out and if it doesn't, it's not like any of us had a life outside this castle anyway."

"Don't remind me." Mycroft had wondered why he had been transformed into a clock until he had realized that Sherlock hadn't been the only one who had been transformed into something that reflected who he was in the inside.

He, Mycroft Holmes, was a slave to the clock. Always sending in paperwork, running empires from far away, and his greatest sin had been having no time for his family. That was why his younger brother had become Lord of Baker Castle, because the older brother had never cared about it. Sherlock was the one who was attached to the pile of stone, even though he would never admit to it.

Mycroft took another sip of tea. It was still a new emotion, sharing a quiet moment with a friend before the sun finished dipping under the horizon. The red, orange and yellow flickers of light shone on his piles of books and papers. It was all he had ever worked for and yet after the last year and half, none of it seemed to matter as much. Maybe it hadn't only been his brother who had been lost.

"My God, you look as if I shot your dog." Lestrade's voice brought Mycroft back from his thoughts.

"I don't have a dog." Mycroft pointed out.

"Fine, then. Ate all the cake." Lestrade gave his Lord a cheeky grin.

Mycroft pursed his lips, but they slowly turned up into a small smile. This was something he had never had before; this feeling of camaraderie. "You arse." Mycroft took another sip of tea.

The quiet calm was broken when the sound of something smashing against the wall rang through Mycroft's office. Not soon after shouting started, and Mycroft didn't have to hear the voices clearly to know who they belonged to. Mycroft put his teacup down and placed his head in his hands; he bit down harshly on his bottom lip. If he had been human, the metallic taste of blood would have been on his tongue.

A comforting hand lingered softly at his arm. Lestrade stayed silent as the shouting continued from the other part of the castle. More items were thrown, and Mycroft prayed to God that his brother didn't injure the other man. He knew that if Sherlock struck out physically against Dr. Watson one more time, then all hope would be lost.  _Please God, don't let my brother be so stupid._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

 

The next few days passed in comfortable silence. They spent their days together but barely more than couple words would be spoken between them. John was lost in his medical journals and Sherlock in his experiments. He didn't mind the quietness; in fact, John found it pleasant that he could just be with someone without feeling the need to fill up their time together with needless words.

"Could you stop that."

John looked up from the furious notes he had been taking on a research paper written about interesting case of lyme disease. "What?" John had no idea what Sherlock was complaining about.

"Your frantic scribbling." Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He turned back to his chemistry set, ignoring John like had been doing for the last hour.

So, John decided to ignore Sherlock and continued to take his notes. One moment John was engrossed in writing, in the next, the pen that had been in his hand disappeared. John looked up to see Sherlock staring down at him with disdain. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and then threw John's pen into the fire. John just stared in shock as Sherlock made his way back to his experiment.

Anger boiled up in John. He clinched his fists until he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. John picked up a book and fingered through it. With slow skilled moments, so that he won't catch Sherlock's attention, John turned his head to face the amateur chemist.

John lifted the hand with the book, and with only a small amount of the true force that he could gather, chucked the book at Sherlock. The tone hit Sherlock smack in the chest and Sherlock gasped out as the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

Sherlock looked down at his chest and then his head shot up to face John.

"You forgot that too. I'd hate to 'think' too loud and disrupt you," John snarled.

"There is no way your thinking could ever be so 'loud' as to disrupt me. That is unless your brain becomes strained and begins to overheat," Sherlock spat out.

John's only retaliation was to throw another book. This one hit Sherlock in the arm and he dropped the vial he had been working with. It shattered at his feet. If possible, Sherlock's face contorted with even more rage. He let out a yell.

"I've been working on this for a MONTH!" His last word was punctuated with him throwing the beaker that had been in his other hand. It shattered on the wall nearest to John and the doctor had to shield his face from getting the mysterious liquid all over it.

"You fucking baby!" John threw another book and it smacked against the wall. Sherlock stomped over to John and stared down at the man in the wheelchair. Sherlock grabbed John's shirt and they both stared at each other for a moment. John ripped his shirt from Sherlock's grip.

"I don't have to take this."

Sherlock watched in shock as John began to stand up. It had been a few days since he had tried to walk and although John knew he didn't have the strength, he was too pissed off to care what damage it could do to his leg.

"John, what are you...?" The confused tone in Sherlock's voice almost stilled John's movements...almost. John shoved Sherlock aside and stood up. He could feel his body sway and gripped onto the arm of the wheelchair.

"I don't need you. Or anything that has to do with you for that matter." John lifted his chin up in defiance.

Sherlock's lip twisted up. John waited for a strike from Sherlock's fist but one never came. Instead, a mask covered Sherlock's features and his rage was replaced with a blank stare. "Please continue." Sherlock gestured with his hand to the door.

John gulped. He let go of the wheelchair and took a few tentative steps forward. His balance swayed and he was able to catch himself. John released the breath he didn't know he had been holding. Maybe he could do this.

He took another few steps before a sharp pain shot up his leg. His knee buckled and John knew, before he had begun to fall, that he could no longer hold his body upright. He crashed down on the floor. Gripping his leg, John refused to let out any cry of pain.

He could feel Sherlock's presence looming over him, scrutinizing him. John bit at his inner cheek; he could feel angry tears blurring his vision. What kind of man am I? Tattered, reduced to this. It left a sickening weight in his stomach. I survived a war to be subjected to this?

"Have fun getting back to your room." The words were barely spoken above a whisper.

It wasn't the whispered words that made John's head whip back around but the sound of cracking wood. Sherlock's fist had gone right through the back of the wheelchair. Sherlock let out a bellow as his other hand came up and smashed into the bottom part.

John watched in stunned silence as Sherlock proceeded to rip the wheelchair apart. He flung parts of it around the room and once it was nothing more than a pile of wood he lifted the remains up and threw it into the fireplace. The flames flared forward and the firelight shone off of Sherlock's sweat stained skin. He readjusted his cuffs calmly, completely transformed from the wild maniac he had been a second before.

"Well, if you do not need my assistance, then you shan't have it." He sweep around John, without a passing glance and exited the room.

The shock of what he had seen settled down upon John. Sherlock was a madman. John had to escape. No matter what he had promised. _I can't stay here a moment longer._

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

It had been a few hours since their fight but Sherlock's blood still boiled.  _How dare he shirk at my..._ It had been a labour of love making that wheelchair. He had only realized it when John had verbally thrown it back in his face.

Sherlock gritted his teeth.  _No, I can't blame John._   _I lost my temper._  He was loath to admit it but he had lashed out unnecessarily at the man. But why couldn't John have just listened to him? But no, John had to keep that scribbling up, breaking his concentration. Sherlock had rarely spent so much time in another's presence; he really had no social skills at all.  _Doesn't he realize this?_  Sherlock shook his head in disgust.

_Why did I have to snap like that?_  Sherlock knew that throwing John's pen in the fire had been a rash reaction to John's defiance and yet...

His glare once again travelled to the enchanted mirror. Gripping the handle harder than necessary, Sherlock snarled, "Show me John."

The mirror flickered and the prone figure of John flashed onto its reflective surface. The stubborn man had clawed his way down the stairs and had actually made it outside the interior of the castle. However, he was still in the courtyard.

John was covered in a light layer of snow, his breath only came out in small uneven poofs. Sherlock tried to divorce himself from the emotions overtaking him, but found it impossible. His chest tightened and fear gripped him. Placing the mirror down gently, Sherlock stood rooted to the spot.  _Its what he deserves for trying to escape._  But a small insistent voice told him,  _He'll die out there. Frozen to the ground. Cold, alone._

Sherlock made his way to the bay window and threw open the curtain. There was a gentle snowfall covering the grounds. The sun had set and Sherlock couldn't make out John's figure in the darkness. Sherlock stayed at the window unable to come to a decision. If he rescued John, than something would change between them.  _Am I ready to accept that? To allow my emotions to dictate my actions?_  Sherlock bit his lower lip when he realized he had already done that.  _Anger is an emotion I am well acquainted with...its the sentiment. Softness in the mind._

He couldn't save the man's life again without it meaning more than it had before. Before, when the villagers had attacked him in the forest, it had been Lestrade who had prompted him to save John- now it would be his own decision. Sherlock would be giving in to his need for another person. Admitting that he needed John Watson to live. No one else in the castle knew that John was outside...

If he allowed John to die out there it would seal Sherlock's fate. He would truly become the monster they all thought he already was. It gave him an odd thrill; to have someone's destiny in his hands.  _It's not just anyone- it's John._  Sherlock closed his eyes and pictured the doctor: smiling at him tentatively, thoughtfully caring for his wounds, his fingers burning a soft trail on his scales...

Sherlock's eyes flashed open. He couldn't allow John die, no matter what had transpired between them. No matter what _could_  transpire between them. Sherlock dashed towards his bedroom door and made his through the hall.

Sherlock reached John as quickly as he could. He lifted the limp doctor from the snow. Picking him up bridal style, Sherlock realized how cold his doctor had become. He carried the unconscious form of John to the main sitting room where the biggest fire would already be lit.

Sherlock rang the pulley for the servants. "Mrs. Hudson! Molly!" Before he had time to be embarrassed by the thought, Sherlock quickly stripped John down to his pants and wrapped him in the thick blanket that was thrown over his armchair.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, so that chest met back. John's head lolled to the side and he made no signs of waking up.

Mrs. Hudson and Molly both appeared. They gasped when they saw John in his unconscious state. Before Mrs. Hudson could ask what had happened, Sherlock barked out orders. "I need warm water bottles, Molly. Mrs. Hudson, do you have any tea?"

Molly made her way back out of the room and Mrs. Hudson approached them. There was still a teacup by his chair. Sherlock grabbed for it and Mrs. Hudson filled it up with warm tea.

Sherlock lifted the teacup up to John's lips but the tea only dribbled down his chin. He tried it again, only to be met with the same result. Sherlock cursed before lifting the teacup to his own lips. Sherlock only needed to look at the pale lips of John to strengthen his resolve. Eyelids fluttered shut, and warm lips met cold ones. John began to swallow on reflex but he quickly began to gag.

Sherlock ripped his lips away as John began to cough. Violent coughs racked his body and John's eyes opened. He brought both hands up to his mouth and continued to cough. Slowly, John was able to catch his breath and his coughing fit stopped. He shivered and tightened his grip on the blanket around him. John's eyes blinked, dazed and unfocused.

John went to move from Sherlock's grip but he was stopped by Sherlock's arms on his shoulders. John stopped resisting and collapsed against Sherlock's chest. John shivered again and his breathing sped up. Afraid that John was having a panic attack, Sherlock began to smooth John's hair.

He mumbled nonsensical words trying to calm the doctor. Molly and others appeared with the hot water bottles. Sherlock took them and placed them on top of John's legs and on his chest. Sherlock used one arm to keep it in place, the other arm gripped John around the chest. John's breathing slowed to an even rhythm and his face began to take on a healthier glow.

Sherlock continued to mutter into the air and John's head rested on Sherlock's shoulder. John's breathing became shallow and Sherlock realized he had fallen asleep. However, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to move so he closed his eyes and allowed himself to just hold on to the other man.

Between the solid feeling of John's body resting on him and the cozy warmth of the fireplace, Sherlock quickly began to doze off leaning against the bottom-half of his armchair. The mantra of  _John, John...John._ repeating in his mind and body.

 


	15. Encounter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson's POV

"Mrs. Hudson! Molly!"

The shouts were punctuated with the servant bell ringing furiously. Mrs. Hudson looked up at Molly in surprise, seeing the same startled expression on the teacup's face. Having Sherlock bellow for them at all hours of the night was no surprise but the urgency in it was new. Mrs. Hudson quickly jumped down from the kitchen table to head to the main sitting room, Molly followed close behind.

 _Oh god, please tell me he hasn't done anything rash._ She had heard the shouting match just like everyone else in the castle but that had been hours before and she had thought the boys had already made up. At the sound of smashing glass from before, Mrs. Hudson had took a steadying breath and had continued to tend to her business- now she hoped she had made the right decision.

She knew Sherlock could lash out violently but the only thing that ever got damaged was the furniture.  _He wouldn't hurt Master John..._ but she had seen the puncture wounds that Sherlock had left in Master John's leg; maybe he was the exception and not in a good way.

Mrs. Hudson gasped when she saw what was before her. Sherlock was holding an unconscious John Watson. He was covered in a blanket and was as pale as a ghost. Mrs. Hudson saw a pile of clothes next to the fire, leaving a puddle around it and for a moment Mrs. Hudson was distracted by the fact that it could leave a stain on the rug. Sherlock's usual mask of indifference was stranded and he looked almost panicked. Molly gasped at the sight. Mrs. Hudson tried to form words, but all she could do was stare.

"I need warm water bottles, Molly. Mrs. Hudson, do you have any tea?" Sherlock barked out at them.

Mrs. Hudson nodded, covering the distance between them so Sherlock could pick her up. Molly quickly left the room to find the water bottles and the help she would need to carry them back.

Sherlock grabbed at the teacup on the side table, that was next to the armchair he was leaning up against. He wrapped his fingers around Mrs. Hudson's handle harder than necessary and tipped her over. The warm liquid splashed into the cup and some spilled over.  _I've never seen him so frantic before...and in the aid of another person._ Lost in his thoughts, Sherlock put the teapot down hard enough to make her flinch.

Mrs. Hudson watched on in silence as her Lord tried to feed the unconscious man the tea. Instead, it dribbled down his chin. Sherlock's licked his bottom lip and his eyebrows knitted in fear.

 _What happened to Master John?_ But she knew better than to ask now. Unable to leave the room, she stared on in silence. Holding her breath at the scene unfolding before her.

Multiple emotions flicked over Sherlock's face in rapid succession. He lifted the teacup to his lips and took a sip. Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened in surprise as Sherlock pressed his mouth against John's still ones.

 _He's, how can he...?_ Mrs. Hudson's thoughts were a jumbled mess. Her Lord had always shied away from physical contact. Even as a young boy he had hated when she had hugged him or even ruffled his hair. True, the act he was committing was out of desperation but Mrs. Hudson had never seen him care enough to even try.

John began to cough and Sherlock jerked his head away. Sherlock became as still as a statue. However, as soon as John tried to wiggle out of Sherlock's grip, he snapped out of his thoughts and grabbed at John's shoulders stilling his movements. John offered little resistance and his head fell back onto Sherlock's shoulder.

Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth to offer assistance but quickly snapped it shut when she heard John's breathing become laboured. She doubted that Sherlock would have even heard her. Sherlock's hand moved up to John's hair and began to smooth it softly.

"Everything is all right now. Calm down...you're safe." Sherlock muttered words pressing his lips close to John's temple. Sherlock's eyes were closed and the firelight danced over them. Suddenly Mrs. Hudson felt as if she was intruding on an intimate moment. She couldn't tell if she was blushing at the scene or if the fire was warming her cheeks. Either way, Mrs. Hudson moved her gaze over to the fire - a smile tugged at she lips.

 _Is this the same boy I've known for more than a decade?_ Mrs. Hudson had seen Sherlock act tenderly in his youth, but it had been so sporadic and only when he had thought he was alone. She had never such an open display and it warmed her heart.

Mrs. Hudson turned her head back to the door at the sound of Molly and the others bringing in the water bottles to heat up John. Sherlock took the bottles and placed one on John's injured leg and another on his chest. Molly took two to place them near John's feet.

He paid Molly and the others no heed and Molly looked over at Mrs. Hudson, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. Once the water bottles were all in place, Mrs. Hudson began to jump towards the door and the others followed her. When the door finally closed behind them, Mrs. Hudson let out the breath that she didn't realize she had been holding.

"Did that just happen?" Molly's face was scrunched up in disbelief. None of them had ever seen Sherlock act so tender and it was a shock to the system.

Mrs Hudson was happy at the fact that both her and Molly had been witness to the same events and that it made them both reach the same conclusion. Mrs. Hudson grinned. "Yes, yes it did," Pursing her lips, she couldn't help but add, "He also fed Master John mouth to mouth."

Molly's features took on a scandalized look and then she blushed. If she had arms, Mrs. Hudson was sure Molly would be covering her face with them. Instead she smiled and let out a small squeal.

Mrs. Hudson had not allowed herself to hope but now it blossomed in her chest. An unstoppable force that she knew would bring light where she had thought it would never be again.

John Watson just might be able to save all of them after all.

Most of all Sherlock.


	16. Encounter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John scrunched his eyes before blinking them repetitively. He saw the shadows of light dance behind his eyelids; he welcomed the warmth of the fire on his skin. However, it was the solid body of heat behind him that made him knit his eyebrows together. Still under the fog of sleep, John couldn't identify who or what it could be.

His face was leaning up against a neck and John recognized the weight of someone leaning their cheek against his head. It was an intimate position and he couldn't remember the last time he had been held so close by anyone. John kept his eyes shut tight.  _Please._ John didn't know what he was pleading for, other than the simple fact that he didn't want the feeling of serenity to end.

John focused on the relaxing breathing pattern of the person above him. The warmth tickled his hair lightly and it sent a pleasant shiver up him. A ghost of a smile formed tentatively on his lips.

Despite his efforts to drift back to sleep, John felt his body waking up. His leg began to ache first and then his hands had a dull throbbing pain, followed by his toes. John's mind struggled to remember what had caused him to wake up with such odd aches.

With a flash, memories flooded John's system.

Suddenly everything that had transpired overwhelmed him. He clenched his teeth together, trapping a small gasp from escaping his lips. There was only one "person" in the whole of the castle that could be holding him... _Sherlock._

 _Why would he be...? What?!_ His entire body screamed and his heart began to thump in his chest. John remembered crawling in the snow and found the answer he had been searching for. _I must have gone into hypothermia._ John finally understood why his fingertips and toes ached with such vague pain.

After the initial shock wore off, John tentatively opened his eyes again. He couldn't see much because his right cheek was pressed near Sherlock's chest. John could only see the outline of a table and the wall. It was still night-time and the flames provided the only light in the room.

John's eyes darted back and forth.  _Should I get up?_ There was no mistaking that he was still angry about the argument that had transpired between them but the sharp point of his anger had lessened. Although he realized it was a terrible decision, John allowed his eyes to take in what they could of Sherlock.

He had seen Sherlock up close when he had bandaged his wounds but he hadn't been able to stare so recklessly before. Most of what John could see was covered in clothing, but Sherlock was wearing an open collared shirt that had a wide neck. It was splayed open and John could make out crimson scales. They struck a starch contrast to the splattering of porcelain white skin on Sherlock's chest.

The scales shone deep red and John was reminded of rubies. Sherlock was obviously asleep and a dangerous thought fleeted over John's mind.  _I want to touch them._ Not under the guise of medical care...but just to better comprehend the stunning falsity of what Sherlock was- an enchanted man.

Just as every other child, he had heard tales of men who had been placed under a curse or enchanted, but he had always believed it to be an old wives' tale. Even after the things he had seen on the battlefield, John still hadn't been able to wrap this mind around it. But now, now the proof was in reaching distance...

John lifted his right hand up slowly, listening for any change in Sherlock's breathing pattern. With his index finger stretched out, John brushed his fingertip against one scale. The feel of it was exactly as he had remembered it. John licked his lips.

It wasn't as if he had never touched another man in such a fashion; but this, this was new. At such an odd angle, John wasn't able to glide more than one finger against the scales, so John turned his hand around, using the front of his fingers instead. He pressed his skin against the scales and John's senses drank in the thrill of it.

 _He saved me._ The thought surprised John more than the desire to touch Sherlock had. It was an unfathomable conclusion but the only one that could be reached. John frowned; he hated being even more indebted to Sherlock. The knowledge of it twisted a dagger into the doctor's chest and he dropped his hand.

Since he had come back from the war a year before, John had cut himself off from human contact. They just couldn't understand what had happened to him. Sure, they had wanted to hear war stories of the front lines, but the villagers hadn't been willing to accept that sometimes there was no glory in battle.

After coming to the conclusion that they were unable to see the real doctor John Watson, he had sealed himself off. He couldn't bring himself to trust people who couldn't understand the hardships of what he had been through-

...seeing good men die.

His friends, acquaintances, colleagues.

John's mind drifted to James Moriarty.

He was a hardened man like John but for a completely different reason. Maybe if John had taken the time to get to know Moriarty, he would have come to understand the man. However, for some reason that John couldn't quite understand, his subconscious had warned him to stay away from the odd man. But unlike with Moriarty, John didn't feel the same hesitance with Sherlock. Sure, the man put him on edge but he didn't feel the need to guard himself against it. Instead he almost wanted to open up again...and the only sure thing that John knew was that it had to because of Sherlock.

John absorbed the body heat warming his back.  _Apparently I've chosen to trust him._ It was a rash decision. John was sure it was a terrible choice: despite that, he couldn't help himself. There was a pull to Sherlock; a force that drew the doctor against his will and now he went hesitantly with a guarded heart.

John would see what the future held with Lord Sherlock Holmes. John frowned. _I swear this. Even if I stay here under the pretence of "prisoner" my life is still my own._ Maybe John could find the answer to the question he sought.

Where did John Hamish Watson belong in the world?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty's POV

He seethed with anger. Nothing, absolutely nothing had happened since John had disappeared. Moriarty concluded that he had never seen a body, and therefore the final proof was missing. John could still be alive somewhere and  _he_ would find him. Moriarty whittled away at an apple, as Moran practiced his archery. Although Moran wasn't as interesting as John or as clever as himself- Moran was loyal and Moriarty valued that in an assistant.

With an angry huff, Moriarty threw the apple he had been carving up. "This is getting us nowhere!" With another burst of anger, Moriarty threw his pocket knife at a tree, imbedding the blade in its trunk.

Moran lowered his bow. "I can go to the forest again and search. However there doesn't seem to be definite markings that could lead to the dragon or where its lair might be located."

Moriarty smiled inwardly at the flatness in Moran's voice. The other man was still burning with rage at the murder of his father. Moriarty constantly fed that anger, allowing it grow and embed itself deeper in Sebastian Moran. It didn't alleviate all of his boredom but it helped.

Moriarty turned his head to stare over at the village. Almost all of the villagers had retreated back to their normal lives, as if nothing had happened. But Moriarty knew differently. Seeing the dragon first-hand had been enough to scare the villagers into a dull existence; with a growing fear of an attack and a heavy weight that they had no ability to combat what they had seen.

Moriarty could face it though.  _I'm going to catch that dragon and once I do…_ Moriarty's eyes narrowed.  _I'm going to kill it, but first, first I'll show it what it really means to burn_. Although the pain was mostly gone, his leg still ached occasionally and whenever it did...it fed his desire for revenge.

The knowledge that the dragon had taken away the only interesting plaything from him only made him more eager. He unconsciously rubbed the damaged skin on his right leg. He could feel the unevenness of it through his trousers. Moriarty walked over to the oak tree and pulled his blade out of the tree trunk.

"I'm bored." Moriarty moved his head slowly from side to side. He wiped his blade on Moran's sleeve and then pocketed it. "I have an idea. Follow me."

Moran placed the arrow that had been on his bow back in his quiver and dutifully followed after his master.

* * *

The sun had set and snow was silently covering the village in a blanket of white. Moriarty and Moran trudged their way to the local tavern. They passed by the counter and made their way towards the back, where the light of the candles didn't touch. Moriarty held in the shiver that threatened to overtake him.

In the corner of the tavern, there was one lone table with a solitary figure sitting at it. Moriarty pulled out the only other chair and Moran stood at his side. The hooded figure slowly raised its head and eyes glinted from the shadows.

A voice as smooth as silk breathed "Moriarty."

A smile curled Moriarty's lips. "Irene. I believe we have some business to discuss."

Red fingernails gleamed as hands were withdrawn from the robe covering the slender figure of the woman. "You know my price."

Moriarty jerked his head and Moran undid the pouch on his belt and handed it to the sitting man. Moriarty took it and tossed it over to Irene. Gold coins spilled from the pouch and Irene picked one up. She rolled the coin in between her thumb and index finger. "Shall we begin?"


	18. Encounter 16

It had been a week since John had woken up by the fire...and leaning on Sherlock. He had fallen back asleep and had awoken again to find himself in his own bed. The morning after Sherlock had offered a mumbled apology with a bowed head. John had bit back a yell and had grudgingly accepted the 'It was mostly your fault but maybe I did some wrong' apology.

John sat up and massaged his leg. Having dragged himself through the castle had slightly irritated his wounds, but he could now walk slowly with a cane. He had removed most of the bandages and even the deepest cuts had finally healed over. Morning light filtered through the curtains and John's eyes wandered over to the window.

He realized with surprise, that the time he had been outside the week before, had been his first time outside in almost a month. True, the little excursion had nearly killed him, but when John had finally managed to open the gigantic door at the entrance to the castle, he had breathed in the cold winter air like a man gaining something back he didn't know he had lost.

With a sigh, John realized how desperately he wanted to go outside again but he was sure that Sherlock would never hear of it. While it was true that he refused to allow Sherlock to treat him like a prisoner, he also knew that there were still limitations that he had to follow...and giving up what was outside the four walls around him was one of them.

_Maybe, maybe in time again I can go outside._ John tried to fool himself that he really didn't want to go outside anyway. It was the middle of winter and even though it had stopped snowing, it was still biting cold.  _Yeah, by springtime. Springtime we can trust each other._ Instead of bringing John any joy, the thought made him frown. "Spring."

That was months away. Would he really be here for that long? John had been living day by day and now the full scope of what he was committing himself to hit with force. John sighed and bit at his lower lip. The months ahead of him...the years? Decades? How long could he last before he tried to escape again?

Honestly, John had only tried to escape because of his wounded pride. Sherlock had treated him like a child and John Watson was no child. John sighed with resignation. He would make the best of his situation. Spend his time studying the medical journals and maybe, with some prodding, he would be allowed to examine Lestrade or Molly and try to learn how they still moved despite the fact that they were essentially inanimate objects.

John sighed and brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes.

* * *

John slowly made his way into the dining hall. He had finally taken on the challenge of the stairs the day before and he had only slipped once. Mostly, John had been surprised with how out of breath he had been.

Now, after practicing twice more, he felt comfortable that he won't go head over heels on them. John still marveled at how big the rest of Baker Castle was; he had never been in a castle before, and John still couldn't believe that they even existed. John smirked.  _Being in a castle really does add to the fairytale feel of it all._

After a right turn and a long walk down another hallway, John entered the dining hall. John and Sherlock had had their first meal together on the main table and John's discomfort had been obvious. After that, Sherlock proposed that they use the small serving table near the bay windows. John had been thankfully, although it added a more intimate feel to their meals together.

Eating with Sherlock was rare, usually John ate with the company of Molly and Mrs. Hudson with Lestrade and Mycroft occasionally joining them. John didn't really care who his company was, he was just thankful that he no longer had to eat his meals in bed.

John sipped at his soggy oatmeal- made just the way he liked it. Mrs. Hudson paid attention to his likes and dislikes like a dotting mother. John supposed that after watching over Sherlock and the others for so long that she probably saw herself as such. John continued to stare lazily outside the window, transfixed by the snowy landscape. John turned his head at the sound of someone entering the room.

Sherlock made his way into the dining hall. Despite the fact that it was still early in the morning, Sherlock was already impeccably dressed. It amazed John that at times Sherlock really looked the part of a Lord, while at other times, he was dressed in only a robe all day.

Today Sherlock was dressed in an emerald green jacket with soft green on the labels with gold trimming. His cravat and shirt were white. His pants where black and the ceases were perfect lines all the way down. The emerald of the jacket intensified the red of his scales. John told himself that he wasn't ogling.

Sherlock's hair was unusually tame and it made John feel even more uncomfortable. Sherlock's horns were more visible than normal, small little points standing out in the sea of raven curls. It looked as if Sherlock had dressed for something and John found that it made gulping down his oatmeal difficult, because suddenly there was a lump in his throat.

Sherlock cleared his throat and took his seat at the other side of the table. Mrs. Hudson made her way over and poured him a cup of tea. Sherlock stared at it like it was a foreign thing, before bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip. John directed his eyes back outside. The silence was broken with Sherlock clearing his throat again.

Out of reflex, John turned his head up to the sound. Sherlock's eyes darted away and he pressed his lips together. He made a slight nod, as if confirming something to himself, and turned to face John with a frightful intensity.

"I need to collect samples today. In the forest," Sherlock paused. He seemed to still be trying to work something out. "Normally, I would have Lestrade accompany me, as I cannot retrieve the specimens myself when I am a dragon."

John tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows.  _What is he going on about?_

"Although Lestrade can handle most samples, it would be easier to pick them with the assistance of human hands..." Sherlock trailed off.

Comprehension began to dawn on John. It was almost too good to be true! Was Sherlock offering him, no matter how short the time, a chance to leave the castle? Then another realization crossed John's mind.  _I get to see him as a dragon. See Sherlock transform into a dragon._ It was a thought that John had rarely let himself entertain.

Sherlock added,"But you  _cannot_ try to escape."

John resented Sherlock's threatening words but nodded with enthusiasm. Before he could stop himself, John asked, "What brought this on?"

Sherlock directed his gaze outside. He offered no answer. Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson spoke up. "Master John, you're going to need a warmer jacket and some other garments. Why don't you run along and get changed? I'll clean up here."

John began to open his mouth to tell her he didn't need to be babied but the anxious expression on her face made him close it. Instead he pursed his lips and kept his complains to himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you spot any mistakes please PM me. My beta is AWOL.


	19. Encounter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV -this back tracks a little, to the scene of the Beast on the terrace looking down at Belle-

He knew it was like cocaine. One hit and now he couldn’t stop. It was wrong and an invasion of privacy, but it gave Sherlock an odd sense of connection. Connection that he now craved to have but was too self-conscious to ask for. He could just imagine it - the rejection, the realization dawning in John’s eyes and then his laughs as he mocked Sherlock’s desire to know him not as a prisoner but as a friend.

 

Sherlock knew that every time he glanced private moments from John’s life with his magic mirror that he was experiencing not only pleasure but also guilt. There was now a familiar dull ache in Sherlock’s chest now. He had tried to seal it away at first but now it was something so great that it was impossible to ignore.

 

Although he smiled with Molly and Mrs. Hudson and even occasionally with Sherlock himself, John always looked so sad when he thought he was alone. In the early morning hours and at night, in the silence of his room the mask would fall from John. His eyes would dull and his mouth became a stern line.

 

But there was another feeling threatening to overtake the pain in Sherlock’s chest when he saw the transformation over John. This was a light feeling that erupted whenever Sherlock remembered John in his arms, John leaning up against his chest...John’s lips.

 

Sherlock still didn’t knew what had brought on the sudden act, pressing their lips together but now it invaded his thoughts like a thief in the night and would strike with no warning. Robbing him of all his senses. Sherlock had always prided himself as being above common ‘flights of fancy’ but now he found that daydreams involving a certain doctor and himself were becoming more regular.

 

Sherlock would find himself wandering how soft John’s lips would be when they finally parted under his. How warm John’s arms would be as they encompassed him and held on. If being with John in such a way, would take him slowly or if it would crash over him like a wave, intent on drowning him.

 

His eyes were transfixed as John slowly massaged his leg. John’s eyes wandered over to the window again and Sherlock know recognized the wistful look there. Sherlock frowned.

 

There was a sound behind him and Sherlock realized that Mycroft was in the room. The words played in Sherlock’s mind.  _I’ve never felt this way about anyone._ Instead Sherlock made another confession. “I want to do something for him. But what?”

 

Mycroft answered with no hesitation. “You know the answer to that. It’s a question of whether you’re willing to give it to him.”

 

Sherlock looked down at the mirror. John was still looking out the window, his posture and expression unchanged.

 

Maybe John would try to escape again, even though his leg could obviously not take the stain. Was Sherlock willing to trust John and take him outside the impossible height of the four walls now surrounding them? Sherlock wanted to trust him. He realized it wasn’t only for John but Sherlock wanted to be able to trust another person. A person that he was beginning to care about.

 

“Yes, I am.”  
 


	20. Encounter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV  
> Beta: the tenth-10   
> Smauglock finally >

John fidgeted with the clasp at the front of his hood. It was a beautiful green color, the same deep of Sherlock's suit. The clasp was opal and which caused light to dance whenever sunlight hit the jewel. Sherlock had requested that he wait by the main door and so that was where John found himself. He leaned heavily on his cane and he evened his breathing out with little success.

 _I'm going outside. I'm going to see Sherlock as a dragon. I'm going to see him..."_ John's mind struggled to grip with the next word. " _transform."_ As a doctor he waited to see how human flesh would bend and remodel itself to become a creature almost fifty times bigger than it was originally. John licked his lips. No matter what, it promised to be a show he would not soon forget.

"Ready?"

John turned to the voice and a pack was shoved into his arms. "For the samples." Sherlock simply explained as he opened the door and closed it. John swung the pack over his shoulder and followed. Sherlock paused at the iron gates leading out of the courtyard.

"You mustn't approach me as I transform." Sherlock began to remove clothing.

John spluttered and with a blush turned away.

Sherlock scoffed. "You don't expect me to transform with clothes on did you?" Sherlock continued to disrobe; throwing his expensive clothes on the ground with complete abandon.

John turned his head and buried it into his shoulder. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the ground but they kept betraying him, by trying to catch glimpses of Sherlock out of the corner of his vision. He was really only blur of red and pale tones but it still made John flare up with embarrassment and curiosity.

 _Medical curiosity!_ His brain screamed at his body with little success.

"You can look again, John."

John turned his head and was greeted with Sherlock's backside. The man was completely naked. It was a glorious sight. Red scales littered his body and if John didn't know what they were he would have thought that Sherlock had an unspeakable disease.

 _He's a masterpiece._ It wasn't an opinion: it was fact. His hip bones were sharp points. The indention above his ass was a crime. John could no longer contain his wandering eyes. That plush ass that was highlighted by the small bumps leading up his spinal column was almost too much for the doctor to handle. John couldn't believe that he had never realized how wide Sherlock's shoulders were. How strong and molded his back was. He had seen him with no shirt on before? How could he have been so blind.

There was barely a hint of hair on his body and only accentuated the glorious mound of dark curls on his head. The black locks blew in the gentle breeze and John was transfixed at the way they danced and bobbed. John felt his fingers twitch.

"Don't look away." Sherlock breathed before he took one step out of the castle grounds. Sherlock began to bellow and even with his previous warning John started to move towards the man to make sure he was alright. "Stay where you are!"

John stopped short. His breathing picked up and his eyes got wider but he willed his body to stay rooted at the spot. It started slowly, Sherlock's back when ridged and he let out a snarl that sounded less like Sherlock and more like the dragon he was about to become.

His skin started to glow as the once pale flesh gleamed red as this whole body was engulfed in scales. The bumps on Sherlock's back began to grow and John watched in shocked fascination as a tail started to expand from Sherlock's once smooth skin.

Sherlock let out another snarl and threw his head back. Hair dissolved and was replaced with a coating of scales. His horns began to grow and twisted around so that they resembled bull's horns.

The sound of cracking and splitting echoed through the crisp winter air. John's stomach curdled.  _Sherlock's bones. They're...cracking? Dissolving? Morphing?_ John strained to keep his hands off of his ears to block the sounds assaulting him at every side. Sherlock's torso swung side to side and he violently bent forward.

"Oh my god." It was barely above a whisper. John's tongue felt heavy.

Wings jetted out from between Sherlock's shoulders and unfurled. They were the same beautiful hue of red as Sherlock's scales. They stretched out and blocked the sun. All John could see was red.  _Blood. Flames._

With the sounds of Sherlock's metamorphosis came a chorus of shouts. It wasn't Sherlock. They were still voices that John knew. John  _had_ know.  _Red everywhere. Blood._ Sherlock bellowed again. Unlike last time, there was now no trace of the man in the sound. John's breathing hitched.

No matter how hard his mind tried to tell his head that he was no longer at war it won't listen. John smelled gun powder in his nostrils. Felt the weight of his pack on his back. John blinked and he was at the front lines again. John stood transfixed.

The dragon writhed and threw its head back to let out one final screech. John reached for his gun to find it missing.  _How can I hope to fight this dragon with no weapons?_ John tried to think of alternatives but his thought processes were a muddled mess. No clear orders could get through and John was overwhelmed.

_John! John!_

John's eyelids shot open and he shut them tight again. He shook his head back and forth to try and unclog it. For a moment it had sounded like another voice was in his head.

_John! It's me. Sherlock._

John's muscles loosened themselves and he opened his eyes. "Sherlock, is that you? In my head." The words sounded distant in John's eyes, as if he was talking underwater.

 _Think your words. You're safe. This is no longer the war. You're here. With me._ The dragon turned its head to John. It took all of John's self-control not to shirk away from it. John lifted his eyes to the dragon's own.

 _It is you._ John knew it was Sherlock but somehow he had just lost that vital bit of information. Having the dragon's eyes pierce into him reminded him.  _No one else has eyes like that._ While its pupils were shaped like a cat's it was really the steadiness of them that confirmed the fact for John.  _Sorry I...it just reminded me of...its nothing._

John lowered his head, breaking the connection from Sherlock.  _Are you...going to be alright?_ John didn't only hear the concern in Sherlock's voice, John sensed a comfort spreading in his mind and making him shiver.  _What was that?_ John asked.

The dragon snorted.  _Obviously John if we can communicate through telepathy there is going to be an emotional connection too. My soul is resonating in yours._

John ignored what the last sentence implied.  _Why couldn't I hear you that night we attacked you?_

 _We had no mental connection then. I can communicate to everyone in the castle. You're the first person other than them to see me like this._ Sherlock didn't add, 'and try and kill me'.

John licked his lips.  _So we're connected? Our souls? What does that mean exactly?_ John stopped.  _Can you hear everything?_ John feared that Sherlock had heard him thinking.

_No, John. If you mean to keep it private I can't hear you. However, know that I can still sense your emotions. It is impossible to keep those completely to yourself._

John nodded.

Sherlock pawed at the ground impatiently.  _Can we be on our way now?_

John took his first tentative steps forward. A shaky breath left him. "How do..." John closed his mouth.  _Where are we going? I suppose I can't go very far._

The dragon narrowed its eyes and John could have swore he would have sighed if it was possible for him too.  _We're not walking anywhere. However, we will be flying somewhere._

 _Flying?_ It came out as a squeak even in John's mind. It thrilled him with anticipation and a slight amount of dread. John covered the distance to the dragon and placed a single hand on his side. Sherlock's massive sides rose and fell as he breathed in and out. Sherlock's scales were impossibly slick and before he could stop himself, John started to stroke them.

The dragon released a sound that oddly resembled a purr and John took his had away as if he had been electrocuted. John cleared his throat. It was difficult because of his injured leg but John finally managed to get on the dragon's back. It was odd having such a huge body underneath him.

They hadn't even left the ground yet and John was already experiencing sensory overload. He hugged onto Sherlock and John tried his hardest not to think that the dragon under him was really the prat he had eaten breakfast with earlier. Sherlock's wings began to move and John held on tighter. The doctor's heart was racing a mile a minute with the knowledge that he was about to  _fly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to review :D


	21. Encounter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade's POV  
> Beta: the tenth-10 
> 
> P.S.: I totally ship Mystrade but I realize that there are many who do not. Know that this fic will not pair them up. Really you can interpret their relationship as either good friends or more. It's up to you :D

Lestrade watched from Mycroft's office window as the shape of the dragon flew off towards the forest. He had been more than fine with being told he won't be accompanying Sherlock outside to collect samples. If Sherlock was impossible as a man- as a dragon who could  _feel_  how irritated you were at him and that made him nearly impossible to get along with.

He did regret not leaving the castle, but Lestrade stayed a candelabra no matter where he went, so it was more just the change of scenery that he enjoyed. At the moment, Lestrade had popped inside to share a cup of tea with Mycroft before heading back outside again to the watch tower.

While it was true that there really wasn't any threat against Baker castle, Lestrade had a nagging thought that had been bothering him.  _When are the villagers going to find this castle?_ It was a miracle they hadn't already but Lestrade knew it was only a matter of time. How could they ignore the fact that Sherlock had killed some of them? It had been an accident, but the villagers had no idea about that.

After the first attack, any illusion that Lestrade had of trying to approach the villagers and explain to them the situation and have them reply with any understanding was shattered. The full weight of the situation sank in. He was a candelabra for god's sake.  _I wonder how I would react if a candelabra started to talk to me?_ Lestrade wished he could still carry his sword. His lack of weapons really bothered him. What could he do? Defend the castle with a butter knife? Lestrade let a grunt of frustration.

"Stop thinking such negative thoughts and get over here and finish your lukewarm tea."

"Fine, fine." He turned his gaze from the window to see Mycroft looking at him with a crooked smile. Despite his depressing thoughts, Lestrade found that he offered a small smile to the clock. Lestrade raised the small teacup to his lips and took a small sip. It really was lukewarm and terrible.  _I guess I was lost in my thoughts for longer than I thought._

Lestrade was grateful that Mycroft had allowed him the moments of silence in the coziness of his warm office. A fire blazed in the fireplace. The heat warmed Lestrade's back and he could feel wax sliding down it. It was still such an unpleasant feeling. At least he never got smaller. It was like he was made of an endless supply of wax despite the fact that he melted. It was such a paradox and Lestrade tried to avoid the thought at all times.

"Can't you think of something more pleasant?" Mycroft eyed Lestrade over the rim of his teacup.

Lestrade grunted. "No, I can't. Being made of wax was never something I aspired to as a child. It really is an...odd feeling." Mycroft raised his eyebrows. Lestrade continued. "And I was thinking about how nice it was that John volunteered himself to go with Sherlock. I still can't believe that he took the doctor up on his offer."

Mycroft's eyes shone. "Oh, no my dear fellow. Sherlock asked John to accompany him. He knew John was getting fidgety and Sherlock proposed the outing." Mycroft laughed at the shocked expression on Lestrade's face.

The shocked expression was replaced with a wide smile. "Ah! I knew it! Not much longer. Ah, Mycroft, there will be no love lost when I'm no longer a candelabra."

Mycroft's smile grew slightly sad. He looked away and took another sip of his tea. "Lestrade, when...when we are human again, will...will you leave?"

Lestrade knew Mycroft was going against his personality by asking the personal question. In all honesty, Lestrade had never thought of leaving Baker castle. Why would he do that? His place was here with Mycroft. The thought shocked Lestrade but not really. He had grown closed to the private man over the year and a half that they had been household objects. Lestrade had wanted to know the man better before the enchantment and the spell offered an unique opportunity for them to share more time with each other.

Mycroft stared blankly at him and Lestrade realized he hadn't answered the question. Lestrade nibbled at the inside of his lower lip. "Mycroft, as long as you require my assistance at the castle, I will happily stay here."

A shadow of emotions danced behind Mycroft's eyes. Lestrade waited for the clock to speak but all he did was take another bit of cake. When Mycroft looked at Lestrade again his eyes were soft. They shared an understanding smile and continued to enjoy each other's company in silence.

 


	22. Encounter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: John’s POV  
> P.S. I’m so happy your all liking it! Thank you all for the incredibly kind words.  
> P.S.S. Do you guys want me to add Mystrade? I will if you want me too. But if anyone says ‘no’ I won’t since it wasn’t original to the story. Just let me know. Thanks!

I felt like flying. John let out as a giggle when he realized he was flying. Well, as close to flying as he would ever get. John's fingers held on to the rough scales on Sherlock's back. While the air was biting cold, the dragon underneath him was warm to the point of being uncomfortable. John buried his face in his armpit for a moment, trying to warm his nose.

John's hair whipped around in a frenzy. He wanted to lift his head up higher but thought better of it. Instead he closed his eyes and let his body take in the feeling of Sherlock's strong wings beating a steady rhythm on either side of him. They were moving at an incredible speed and John wondered just how far Sherlock planned to take them.

 _How far can Sherlock travel? Are there magical confides restraining far he can travel from the castle?_  Visions of visiting exotic locations with Sherlock filled his mind. How John would love to travel without the threat of a war zone as his destination. They could see the world...at least everywhere but the cities. John's heart soared at the thought of it. Until John remembered that when they landed Sherlock wouldn't be transforming back.

Would he want to travel the world with Sherlock as a dragon? Not really. John frowned. Well, it had been irrational thought anyways. Still, he could get used to this. When he had seen dragon's on the battlefield, he had never envisioned riding on one of them. All he had been concerned about was how to bring them down out of the air fastest, so that they could kill them. If he had only known it could feel like this- the whole world melting away. That Sherlock was allowing him to experience this feeling that few had ever known.

John knew the emotions were all radiating out of him in a wave of euphoria. There was no way that Sherlock could not feel it radiating out of every pore in John's body. The doctor allowed it to wash the tension out of shoulders and he hoped that Sherlock could find his own bliss up in the clouds; where nothing else mattered.

John opened his eyes and quickly shut them again. He wanted to watch as the world passed by in a blur but it gave him an odd sense of seasickness trying to focus on anything on the ground or in the air. So he satisfied himself with closing his eyes and letting the crispy air wash over him.

Sherlock started his descent into the woods. John finally opened his eyes to a blur of green and brown as they dipped into the trees. With a thud Sherlock landed and John's body thumped back down onto the dragon's back.

John slide off of Sherlock's back and promptly fell to the ground. Sherlock turned his head.  _Are you all right?_  John was shocked at the sudden surge of emotions. First fear and then relief at seeing that John was unharmed. John swallowed around the lump in his throat.  _Yeah, just give me a second. I think all that flying messed with my balance._

John sat on the ground holding his head, trying to make the world stop spinning. Sherlock waited patiently. After the trees had stopped swaying John got to his feet. He extended his arms out for balance and was surprised when his left hand touched Sherlock's face.

His long snout was under John's hand. A warm puff of air tickled John's arm. Without thinking about it, John's fingers gently stroked Sherlock's scales. Sherlock didn't move a muscle and John found that the warm puffs of air that had been hitting him had stopped. Sherlock was holding his breath.

John couldn't have moved his hand faster even if he had been burned. Licking his lips nervously, John removed his hand from Sherlock and finally stood up straight. He didn't have his cane so he couldn't go too far. However, there was only a dull throb in his leg.

John cleared his throat. "So..." John sighed. So, where are we? John turned his head from side to side but he didn't recognize any of the forest. He wasn't too surprised through. Aside from the occasionally hunting trip for food, he rarely travelled in the forest.

 _We're in Wulworth woods. It's a few miles north of the castle. It's the best place to find the mould I'm conducting research on_. Sherlock tucked his legs underneath him and lay down. The ground shook again and John reached out a hand for balance. His hand was on Sherlock's snout again. As soon as he had righted himself, John removed his hand.

 _Mould? Hum..._ John tried to keep his tone nonchalant.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and tried his best to look displeased. John let out a laugh. Instead of looking mad, Sherlock looked as if he had indigestion.

The dragon lifted his head up and snorted.  _Yes, well, if we're quite done with that, I'd like to get down to business._

Sherlock explained what the mould looked like and where it could be found. John had to scrape it off of trees and place the samples in separate containers.  _And since you're taller, try and get some samples higher up. Lestrade could only reach about a foot or two up. I image you can reach at least six feet up_.

John stomped his good foot in exasperation. "I'm not that short!"

Sherlock just nodded his head and John could have sworn he saw a smirk in his eyes. John made another irritated noise and made his way into the trees. "I'll be back when I feel like it!"

John remembered he should have just thought the words, but he found that he didn't care. Sherlock had ears even as a dragon and he could use them. The telepathy had been interesting at first...now it kind of bothered John. Sherlock and he were closer to each other then they had been months ago but how deep did their bond go?

 _It can't matter that much. He has the same connection with Lestrade and everyone else at the castle._  John stopped dead in his tracks when he realized Sherlock might have heard his thoughts. But after another moment of silence passed, John figured Sherlock was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice.

John easily found the trees that Sherlock had described and he took the scrapping tool out of the pouch slung around his shoulder. John hummed to himself as he scraped off and placed the mould in their appropriate containers.

He stretched as far as he could and gathered samples from higher up the tree. John was tempted for a moment to climb up into the branches and collect another sample but thought better of it. Satisfied that he had gotten enough mould, John put everything back into the pouch and began to make his way back to Sherlock.

John walked three steps back to Sherlock, before he stopped.  _That didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would. Maybe I can explore for a while._  While it was true that John had contemplated running away, he had already dismissed the idea. Sherlock was extending his trust to John and the doctor had decided that he wasn't going to try and sneak away again.

The forest was silent and John leisurely made his way through the forest. His gloved hands traced along the bark of the trees he passed. The only sound was the soft crunching that his boots made in the snow. John closed his eyes and breathed in the forest. It smelled of pine and the crisp air burned his nostrils.

John realized that even though he was walking with no set destination, he was still walking back in the direction of Sherlock. John had been lost in introspection and both his feet and mind had been leading him to one certain dragon. These two facts combined unsettled John. He licked his lips and nibbled at his lower lip in agitation.

John wished that Sherlock could walk through the woods with him. If they did, Sherlock would tell him the names of all the moulds, flowers and trees in the entire forest. They would walk side by side and John would find himself marveling (against his will) at Sherlock's ability to know  _everything._ Maybe they would share a smile and John's heart would feel like it would burst at any moment.

John stopped walking and lowered his head; shaking trying to dismiss the thoughts that his mind seemed to want to embrace.  _God, what am I doing to myself?_  After another moment to settle his nerves, John made his way back to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S.S It’s a special muold that grows in winter, so I don’t want to hear anything about anything from you!


	23. Encounter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: The tenth-10 
> 
> Sherlock's POV 
> 
> People seem cool with Mystade so you're getting some! Mwahhhh  
> I promise it won't be in your face.

The first time Sherlock had transformed his body had ripped out of his clothes and he had sobbed from the searing pain of it. He had ran back into the castle grounds and transformed back. Afterwards, all he had been able to do was lay down, huddled on the ground in a shivering mess. All his bones had felt like liquid fire and even though he had transformed back, his body had still burned with the energy from it.

Weeks had passed before Sherlock tried it again. He had stripped first and braced himself for the pain that he knew was coming. He had lain still on the ground allowing the feeling of being a dragon sink into his mind and body.

It was a month later before he tried to fly and a half year later before he had actually took Lestrade out to the forest for the first time. No matter how hard he tried, he could never keep all the pain locked up inside him and whenever he transformed, screams would still be ripped from his lips. Sherlock supposed that was some of his punishment too; the freedom but only after blood-curdling pain.

John had stood transfixed as Sherlock transformed into the crimson dragon. Sherlock had been secretly pleased at the enamoured look in the doctor's eyes. However when John's face had twisted in pain and confusion, Sherlock realized that John had been transported back to a darker time.

Sherlock had sometimes watched John sleep, with the mirror and knew that the ex-soldier was still haunted from the battlefield. Sherlock had never mentioned it, but it helped him to understand right away what demons were gripping John.

John had managed to shake it off and without another thought they had flown off into the sky. Sherlock had mostly told John everything about the powers that he possessed as a dragon. While it was true that emotions could be cut off, it could only be done with training. Training that John didn't have.

Every emotion that John experienced hit Sherlock like a wave; crashing down on him and astounding him with their force. The elation that John felt as they flew made Sherlock nearly shout with glee. This amazing, unassuming man, John Watson, could feel so much and so deeply. Sherlock had never known anything like it. To see the world through John's eyes was something so new it took Sherlock's breath away.

The soft weight of the man sent Sherlock's heartbeat up. Although he had carried Lestrade he was a candelabra and perhaps more importantly of all, Sherlock didn't have developing emotions for him. Sherlock could no longer deny his growing need and want for the surprising man who was riding on his back. Sherlock's eyes grew wide despite how the wind stung them.

This was it. The defining moment. Sherlock suddenly understood that it had to be John or no one at all. No one other than John had ever made him feel so alive and Sherlock never wanted to let go of it...ever.

Although he didn't want to, Sherlock flew down as they approached the small meadow. When they landed, Sherlock lost some of his connection with John as the doctor crawled off his massive back. When John touched Sherlock again to steady his feet, Sherlock felt a jolt pass between them. Sherlock blinked as John quickly removed his hand from the dragon.

It didn't matter. He had felt it and Sherlock knew that John had no idea what it meant. Sherlock wasn't the only one experiencing new emotions. John wasn't cold to the idea of him. He didn't view him as an enemy...but as a friend. That single touch had conveyed everything that words hadn't between them.

Sherlock lay down and waited patiently for John to return with the samples. Even though they were no longer touching, Sherlock could still sense John in the woods. The doctor grew giddy and then gloom eclipsed the happier emotion. Sherlock didn't know exactly why but he was gripped with the roller coaster of emotions nonetheless.

John finally emerged from the woods. His cheeks were flushed from cold and his nose was pink. Something tugged at Sherlock's heart at the welcoming sight. John's mouth corked up.

Sherlock's eyes arched up.  _Did you get them?_

"I got your bloody samples." John patted the small bag slung around his shoulder. John stopped and pressed his lips together. It was obvious that John wanted to say something, so for once Sherlock waited patiently for John to speak.

"Can...can you ever be in your human form outside the castle again?"

Sherlock's eyes grew wide. Um, Sherlock averted his eyes.  _Yes, but I have to break the spell. Mycroft told you this, didn't he?_  Sherlock didn't believe that John had forgotten, rather that he was stalling for some reason.

"He just told me you had six months left..." John frowned. "He really didn't go into specifics. I know it has to do with you being a complete berk."

 _You know talking out loud as opposed to in your mind has nothing to do with making our bond stronger or weaker._  Sherlock huffed.

John licked his lips and his rosy cheeks grew redder.  _Yeah, um, sorry about that_. John offered him a weak smile in apology.

 _So what do you really want to know?_  Sherlock's curiosity was getting the better of his patience.

John let out a nervous giggle. _What do you have to do? What were the restrains of the spell? Do you have just be nicer? Or...?_

Sherlock continued to look everywhere but John. He contemplated telling a lie but a nudging in his brain told him that that would just make matters worse. It was time to let the cat out of the bag...Sherlock snorted at the stupid saying.

 _Um?_  John was completely confused at what had made Sherlock snort out in amusement at such an important question.

_Love._

John stood rooted at the spot. Although Sherlock couldn't hear the words in John's head, he could still sense all the emotions shooting through the other man. Sherlock finally brought his eyes back to John and looked at him with an intense gaze. _I've never loved anyone, John...and no one has ever loved me_. Sherlock blinked and broke their connection.

John wordlessly crunched through the snow towards Sherlock. His hand lifted up but at the last moment, his hand fell back down to his side.  _There are people that love you! Mrs. Hudson and Molly, I'm sure even Mycroft had brotherly love for you_. John tried to encourage Sherlock but it sounded hollow.

_I mean romantic love, John. Love that has to be earned. Love that isn't given because they feel obligated but because the other person wants to give it._

John licked his lips.  _You've...never loved anyone?_

 _Not like that. No, never._  Sherlock kept his head bowed low.

John's hand rose again and stopped inches from Sherlock.  _I'm so sorry._

 _I don't want your pity._  Sherlock snapped.

 _It's not pity! All right, maybe it was...sorry. I just can't believe you've never felt that kind of closeness to another person._  John's hand moved and it landed with only a faint touch on the dragon's long nose.

Sherlock willed himself not to nuzzle into it. The touch was so welcoming but he didn't want to scare John away. John's fingers began to gently stroke Sherlock's scales. The dragon closed his eyes and tried to stop time, because, if anything, he wanted to remember this moment always. Even after John had left. Because he was bound to...there was no doubt in Sherlock's mind on that fact. He accepted that.

_I really don't know what to say._

_You could say that you're not surprised..._

_Sherlock!_ John sighed _._ It was true, he wasn't but still he didn't want Sherlock to know that. _You could be a bit less...crass. You're not an unattractive person, I suppose that..._ John trailed off lamely. He had no idea what he was trying to say and it all just left him tongue tied.

 _You don't have to coddle me, John. I am well aware of my...situation. I am not the type of man who is carried away with flights of fancy. I accept my fate_. Sherlock nodded his head.

 _No!_  The force of his words surprised him and Sherlock eyed John oddly. John's fingers gripped harder onto Sherlock and he brought his other hand up so that they framed Sherlock's face.

_Don't give up so easily. You can find someone to love you. You might be crass, but you have a brilliant mind! You're so full of boundless energy and passion. Even a blind man could see how much you love life. You're not a machine, Sherlock. You deserve love, everyone does! And I think..._

John's mouth was opened in stunned silence. "I think..."


	24. Encounter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly's POV 
> 
> beta: the 10th-ten

" _I love you." John's voice trembled at the words._

_The mask fell from Sherlock's face as he embraced the only love he had ever known. "John, you're my everything and...I love you too."_

_They looked tentatively at one another. A white light began to envelope Sherlock and they both knew that the spell had finally been broken. They pressed every inch of their bodies together, their lips inching closer..._

Molly released a long sigh.

Mrs. Hudson clicked her tongue. "Molly! There are things to be done in the kitchen! Stop your fantasizing and get back to work. Sherlock and the doctor will be famished when they come back."

Molly still continued to look out the long bay window. She had watched as Sherlock had flown off hours before with John riding on his back. Molly loved to watch Sherlock transform and had secretly watched him many times.

Molly rolled her eyes when she caught sight of a red blur. It was Sherlock and he was coming back as a dragon.  _Stupid men. It's so completely obvious and yet they still persist in acting like this._

"Mrs. Hudson, do you have any extra crisps?" Came a call from the kitchen door.

Molly turned away from the window to flash a smile at Lestrade. The candelabra smiled back. They had a comfortable relationship, even if Lestrade would sometimes tease her like a little sister.

Molly bit back another sigh.  _Speaking of stupid men. God._

What was it with everyone in the castle? True, Molly still fretted slightly about the spell being broken in time but...who was to say? She still wanted to transform back into a human, she couldn't be completely unselfish, but she did want the people who mattered most in her life to be happy.

If they would only just stop being so  _stupid._

She gave Lestrade another smile as she hopped down from her perch and looked for the crisps he had requested. Molly had a feeling it was for a certain clock more so than the guard. Molly giggled.  _The fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach._

Molly handed over the crisps and Lestrade thanked her. With a wink, he left the kitchen.

Molly turned her head to see that Mrs. Hudson was distracted; busying herself by telling the silverware to polish themselves again. Molly jumped back up on top of the cookbook and looked back out the window.

Sherlock had transformed back and was slowly dressing. John's eyes were averted, staring down at the snow. Even from the far away window, she could still see a blush covering John's cheeks.

Molly smiled to herself.  _Something_  had happened! It was hard to define, but it was there, between the two of them- something that had only hung in the shadows but it was now plain to see.

Sherlock finished dressing and when he turned around John smiled at him. It was difficult to see their faces, but the body language told Molly all she needed to know. There was an openness to the way they faced each other. The stiff air between them had finally been broken. It was a start.

"Molly! Will you get down from there already?!" Mrs. Hudson yelled.


	25. Encounter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Finally, some action is going to happen...
> 
> A/N: John's POV  
> Beta: The 10th-ten

 

John lay on his bed with his eyes closed. It had happened hours before but the words still rang in his ears like he had just said them:

_I think..._

They had been words of something more to come. When he had held Sherlock's face between his hands he forgot it was the face of a dragon. He looked into Sherlock's cat like eyes and all he could see was the man. Sherlock's eyes had sparkled with anticipation and even hope. Hope.

John had definitely seen a myriad of emotions in Sherlock's eyes and he knew his own were reflecting the same. But he had been too weak. When it had really mattered, he had hesitated over the few words it would have taken to finish the sentence.

_I think I could learn to love you like that._

Even though he hadn't been able to say the words, Sherlock had been able to feel the immense emotion behind it. John was sure of it. John hit his bed in frustration. All he could do was rewind the conversation and replay it; all with different endings and most of them did not end well.

John groaned. What the hell was he thinking? He had been at Baker castle for only two months but he found it hard to remember his cottage waiting for him back at the village. What did he really have waiting for him? Nothing. Although he hadn't died in the war, his life had ended when he had been wounded.

The idea of being a prisoner still upset him, but John didn't feel like it was that anymore. Sherlock had revealed more of himself. More than he would have ever shown to just a 'prisoner'. He had his own room, he could mostly go where he wanted in the castle and...if worse came to worse, he really could escape now.

Still he stayed. Still he  _wanted_  to stay. Perhaps that was what surprised John the most. His desire to not leave the castle. While it was true that he missed acting as a doctor, if he was honest with himself, even that had become predictable and boring.

The clock slowly ticked away as John lamented his situation. Dinner was in an hour and he knew he had to organize his thoughts by then.  _Do I really want to do this?_  Adrenaline was surging through his veins. After the flying, his body was still riding on the high.  _Maybe that's it. I got so excited about the flying that I'm mistaking this feeling for something to do with Sherlock. That's it! I've just got it all confused..._

"Yeah, that's it." Still the words sounded hollow on his lips.

* * *

 

John kept quiet all throughout dinner and Sherlock was much the same. Instead of the sometime awkward silences they shared, this one was filled with restless energy. John could practically feel this thoughts

swirling over his head. Even though their telepathy had ended, John wondered if Sherlock could still read his thoughts.

The insufferable man had a way of doing that sometimes.

Molly hopped into the dining room and broke up the silence. She gave John an oddly knowing smile and the ex-solider had the decency to blush very nicely. John swirled the food around on his plate and Mrs. Hudson huffed in disapproval when she saw how little they had both eaten.

With a mumbled excuse, John walked as quickly as he could to get to the safety of his own room. After he closed the door quietly, he leaned up against the frame and closed his eyes.  _God, I'm in trouble._

* * *

 

It was a week later and whether things had gotten better or worse, John couldn't tell. They fought less- which was good. Except now he got an odd flutter in his stomach if Sherlock looked at him with a hint of a smile. After the butterflies always came a sick turning.

They said less to each other, which could be interpreted as a bad thing. Except...now the silences were comfortable. John would sometimes feel an overwhelming urge to cross the small distance between them and kiss the smirk off of Sherlock's face.

It was late in the evening, John and Sherlock were in the main sitting room. They had started off on their respective pieces of furniture but somewhere in the evening they had migrated to the floor and closer to the fire.

Books and papers were everywhere. One of John's reports had a tea ring stain on it and another had crumbs all over it. Surprisingly, John found that he couldn't care less. He loosened another button on his shirt and was well aware that that was where Sherlock's eyes were lingering.

John swallowed hard. The firelight danced over Sherlock's scales and John's mind wondered to the last time they had been in front of the fire. He had felt so warm wrapped up in Sherlock's arms. While John knew that Sherlock had a very rational reason for doing what he had done, it still made John's chest burn.

John gave a smile laugh at whatever Sherlock had just said. Their arms bumped together and John found that he had no desire to pull them apart. John licked his lips. It was a minute pressure. Only sleeve touching sleeve and yet in left the doctor craving more.

They continued to talk. It was a pleasant and lively conversation. Sherlock was making some point and John was trying to defend his position. Although he realized that Sherlock was right, it didn't mean that he wanted to give the ego seeking man another excuse to puff up.

"Just admit I'm correct, John." Sherlock tilted his head and gave John a sly smile.

John rolled his eyes. "Can't you just let it drop?"

"No."

"Fine. Your such a ..." John had meant for it to sound playful but it came out with more bitterness than he had intended. Before he could make a bigger ass out of himself, John went to stand up. Sherlock reached for John's sleeve and yanked harder than he had meant to.

It happened in slow motion and no matter how much John wanted to stop it, he couldn't. With a 'huff' he landed on Sherlock. Despite his best effort to stay sitting up, Sherlock found himself sprawled out on the floor. Chests together, John found it hard to breathe.

Soon his left arm was supporting his weight and John was looking down into the surprised eyes of Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes were unblinking and shining. John knew he should just push up and break the contact between them but...

"Admit it. You just wanted me to stroke your ego." John voice was even and showed none of the concern that was on his face.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in challenge. "It's not my ego, John. I can't help it if the evidence supports my theory. Evidence doesn't take sides."

John pressed his lips together. "That still doesn't give you the right to push for me to admit that I was wrong."

"Why?"

John blinked; surprised by the simple question. "Well...it's not polite for starters."

"When have I ever cared about polite?"

"When have you cared about anything?"

The words hung in the air between them. John wished he could shove them back in his mouth. He cursed at himself silently. He didn't want to apologize but he refused to give Sherlock the satisfaction of angering him. John opened his mouth but Sherlock spoke first,

"I care about you."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...in the next chapter. Filled with antici----pation. 
> 
> Don't forget to review! :D


	26. Encounter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the fluff...
> 
> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock closed his eyes. As their lips touched, it was so soft Sherlock wasn't sure it had even happened. John warm against him, a feather light touch. John pulled away but didn't sit up entirely. Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to stare at John's chest.

Like the kiss, Sherlock more sensed John's fingers tracing along his cheeks. One fingertip brushed light strokes up and down. Sherlock's heart was pounding harder than when he had first transformed into the dragon. His eyes fluttered closed again and he waited for John to do what he wanted.

John's fingers stroked at a few of his scales- applying a soft pressure. Sherlock knew they had always fascinated him. Swallowing hard, Sherlock fought hard not to nuzzle into the intimate touch. Finally his self-control could take no more and he tilted his head towards John's caresses. Instead of pulling away, John continued to explore him.

Fingers swept along his neck and traced along his cravat. John bent down again and placed another soft kiss on the side of Sherlock's mouth. Their kisses were chastise- seeking connection to another person. John pulled away enough so that his lips were barely touching Sherlock's.

"Lord help me, I care too."

John said no more and made no move to pull way or to press their lips together again.

The decision was Sherlock's.

All of this flashed through Sherlock's mind in a moment, when he realization John's intentions, Sherlock lifted his head up to cross the small distance so that he could capture John in another kiss. Sherlock brought a hand up and gently pressed it to the side of his doctor's face.

Lips melted together and Sherlock released a soft sigh. John began ran a finger up along Sherlock's ear and through his black silky curls. John twisted and pulled as many as he could. He fingers even went high enough to trace along his horns. A small shiver shook Sherlock's body; no one but him had ever touched his horns before. It send small shots of pleasure all through his scalp.

John pressed down another hard kiss and pulled away from Sherlock. Like he was drained of all energy, John laid down at Sherlock's side. John placed his head on Sherlock's shoulder and the taller man pulled him closer. John's hand covered Sherlock's chest, bunching up in the expensive material.

Tentatively Sherlock's fingers played with the tips of John's hair. The blonde's locks had been growing longer. Although he would probably like a hair cut soon, Sherlock enjoyed the ability to play with the soft ends.

 _I should say something...but what is there to say?_ Sherlock found it blissful just to keep his eyes closed and feel the comforting warmth of John breathing in and out. The fire continued to crackle and Sherlock didn't know when he had ever felt more at peace.

 _I wish I could read his mind now. No matter how hard I try to understand him there's always something new. I should ask him to stay...not as a prisoner- but as what?_ John released a content sigh and moved his whole body closer. With that, Sherlock abandoned all thought and just concentrated on the firm body of John Watson.

* * *

 

 _I love him._ Sherlock blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The firm weight of John was still at his left side. Lowering his head, Sherlock placed a soft kiss on the top of John's head. The doctor huddled in closer, mumbling something in his sleep.

A light warmth washed over Sherlock and he felt his chest expand. This improvable man had given himself over to the beast- had gone willingly. Sherlock couldn't understand why and that made the feelings of sentiment even stronger for the ex-soldier.

 _Sentiment._ It wasn't that he had fought against, just that it didn't come easily for him. There had never been anyone worth his time, let alone his attention. John had never demanded it, yet-

John shifted and hugged the front of Sherlock's coat tighter. The warmth building in Sherlock's chest ran over.  _I'll never want anyone other than him. It will always just be John. It's always been him; I just didn't know it before when I couldn't name this feeling- this feeling for him._

The thought was both comforting and troubling. Even if John never loved him back, Sherlock knew he would never want another living soul. It was simple and so complicated.

 _How can I tell him this? How much he means to me? I can't..._ Sherlock had never been good with dealing with his emotions and the thought of declaring his love made his stomach turn. A tiny voice at the back of Sherlock's mind corrected him.  _You're not afraid to confess. You're afraid he'll say he doesn't love you back._

It was a rational fear. A few kisses late one night hardly conveyed an oath of undying love. What was John's past? Sherlock knew little; other than that he had fought in the war, been wounded and was a doctor.

Did John have family? Did he have children? Sherlock shook his head. No, there was no way the ex-solider would have allowed himself to stay at Baker castle if there was someone at home who needed him. John was alone in the world.

...But he wasn't. No matter how small a prize he made, John now had Sherlock. It was a dysfunctional family at best but that was what he had to offer. Sherlock let out a small groan of frustration. What was the point of any of it?

 _This is why I hate sentiment! None of this can be fixed with reason or facts. None of this makes any sense._ Sherlock felt the beginnings of a headache.

John let out a yawn. At the sound Sherlock stiffened underneath him.  _This is it._ Either John would look him in the eye and say it was all a mistake or they would move forward...to where, Sherlock had no idea, but he did know where ever it did end up to be he wanted to be there with John.

John arched his back and let out another yawn. He released a content sounding sigh and snuggled slightly deeper into the crook of Sherlock's arm. He stayed like that for a few moments; blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"G' Mornin'" The words were slurred with sleep. Sherlock refused to admit that he thought John sounded adorable. The tension began to dissolve from Sherlock's body.  _He hasn't ran away._

"Good Morning, John." Sherlock kept his voice steady and almost bored sounding.

John let out a chuckle. He breathed in deeply and let out a long steady breath. John's hand worked its way up to Sherlock's neck, and he turned his head up. "You could at least  _sound_ tired. You're not even hoarse sounding in the morning!"

Sherlock snorted. "I fail to grasp what that has to do with anything."

John chuckled again and rubbed his hand along Sherlock's cheek. "You don't even have stubble. I bet you don't have morning breath either."

Before Sherlock could answer, John twisted his body up and planted a soft kiss on his surprised lips. Sherlock made a small shocked sound.

"Yep, I knew it." John licked his lips. "You still taste like that wine from last night." John's eyes twinkled with evil mischief.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm trying to flirt but apparently I'm not doing that well if can't tell. You'll have to forgive me, I'm still rather new at it."

"Flirting really isn't my area." Sherlock crinkled up his brows. "How does one go about 'flirting'?"

A torrent of giggles escaped from John's lips as he dived down for another quick kiss. "However you want. Call me an idiot for all I care. Hell, I probably am one for being like this."

"Yes, you are an idiot." Sherlock was amazed that a smile was beginning to tug his lips up. He placed a hand at John's neck and drew him down for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...enjoy because the angst starts soon.


	27. Encounter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty's POV 
> 
> Now it starts to get good.

A deep roar broke the calm of the forest. Moriarty cursed when he realized he couldn't see the direction that the dragon was travelling. He hoped that Moran had stayed where he had a clear view of the sky. Moriarty ran quickly to join the other man at the edge of the forest.

They had been scouring the woods for weeks without a single sign of the dragon. This was what they needed to find the beast. Moriarty's lip curled up in a satisfied smile.  _This is it. Things are about to become a lot more interesting._ Mrs. Adler had been right. She usually was and it was money well spent to consult her.

He broke through the trees and quickly caught sight of Moran. Moriarty didn't have to voice his question for Moran to answer it. "They were heading Northwest. I believe the dragon was descending. If we hurry, we might be able to catch him."

Moriarty nodded his head and took off in the direction that Moran had pointed. It barely took fifteen minutes to catch up to the crashing sound of the dragon landing. Although Moriarty couldn't see him, he knew the dragon was close.

Moriarty scoured the woods for the monster or John. He doubted he would find the doctor but something told Moriarty that the dragon had not been flying alone.

Suddenly footfall broke him from his thoughts and he was face to face with John.

"John."

John for his part looked like a scared rabbit. Without a single word, he turned to flee. Moriarty grabbed his upper arm. Hard.

"Why did you never come back?

Moriarty hated idiotic questions but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it. John stopped trying to struggle, as if all of his energy had been zapped from his body.

Moriarty watched as the doctor's eyes turned cold.

"That's none of your business. Now let me go." He spoke so quietly and yet it was louder than a yell.

"No." He said the word through gritted teeth.

Moriarty knew the punch would be coming before John even tensed his back. With surprising swiftness, John threw a punch. Moriarty blocked it with his arm. He didn't even try and keep the smirk off of his face. Moriarty's left hand flicked up; warning Moran to not move forward.

"Let me go!" The calm was starting to fracture in John's voice.

"Why? You're coming back with me."

John twisted his wrist angrily in Moriarty's tight grip. "I will never go back with you. Now release me!" John punctuated the yell with a swift knee to Moriarty's thigh. With a surprised sound, Moriarty released John.

The doctor ran as quickly as he could, disappearing into the the thick trees. Moriarty smiled evilly at the fleeing form of John. Moran leaped forward, intent on following the retreating figure.

Moriarty extended his arm in front of Moran. "Let him run. I know where they are now. Come, its time to rally the villagers against the  _beast_."

_If I can't have him, than no one will._


	28. Encounter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV  
> ratings are now!

John's heart was thumping in his chest. His breaths came out in shallow bursts but no matter what John tried to do the hand of fear around his heart did not abate. He had ran back to the dragon and had screamed at him to fly  _now_!

They flew away together and John explained everything to Sherlock as they journeyed back to Baker Castle. Moriarty's eyes had burned with hate and murder. John remembered the few conversations they had shared and he knew that Moriarty hated being beaten. Hated not getting his way and forgiveness was not a word that Moriarty knew. The hunter would never listen to reason.

By the time they landed, John was coming apart only more. They made their way back into the castle and Sherlock locked them into his room.

"What are we going to do?" Sherlock didn't seem frightened but his calm was worrying nonetheless.

"I don't know." He hated admitting to it, however John had no idea. What could they do? Would Moriarty bring the villagers? Everything swirled around and John gripped his head.

"You have to go back."

The words were spoken so quietly, John wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "What? Leave you?" Of all the thoughts that had crossed his mind that one never had.

"You have to stay safe, John." Sherlock's head was bowed and his hands were grasped together almost in prayer.

"I'm not leaving." John said, his jaw tight.

"They only want me. They want the monster."

Fear was replaced with anger. "You are  _not_ a monster!"

Sherlock's head jerked up. His eyes were unfocused. It sent a pain shooting up into John's chest to see Sherlock so lost. So unlike himself. John crossed the few feet to place his hands on the other man's shoulders. "You are not a monster." The doctor squeezed.

"They can't kill you, not when-" Sherlock's voice cracked at the last word.

"They won't. They won't kill either of us."  _Please believe this. Believe in us. I can't leave you. There's still so much I'm not sure about. I need more time. Just a little bit more._

"You might have to fight some of your friends." Sherlock lower his eyes.

"Anyone who wants to kill you isn't my friend." John licked his lips. "We will get though this. Together. You can't make me leave your side. Not now."  _Not ever._

John had incited their first kiss. At first John had wondered why, and after hours laying in bed, John knew it was because it was the natural progression. After that, there had been others. All chastise, all short- and all leaving them both burning for more. John had never wanted to push him and Sherlock had never shrunk away but he had never sought more.

Sherlock's hand came up to cradle John's cheek. The doctor leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, waiting. Sherlock leaned up and captured John in a kiss. It was soft like all their kisses had been. This time, this time the crack that had only been allowing a trickle through finally tore under the weight of it.

Sherlock brought his other hand up to John's face and tugged at his lips to open. John didn't need to give it a second thought before he answered the request. Pliable lips opened and Sherlock's tongue tentatively stretched out into that uncharted part of John.

John's hands slide from around Sherlock's shoulders and up onto his neck and dragged themselves between silky curls. John gasped as the forked tongue glide up against his flat one. The alien feel made a shiver run up his back and goosebumps break out over his arms. Every pore in John's body came alive with the touch of it.

Sherlock groaned into the kiss and he stood up without breaking contact. John's hands snaked out from around his hair and down to his chest. Necks were bent to the side and the connection deepened.

This was it and John had to more of it. He had to have all of it. All of Sherlock before the small world they had created together crashed with the real one- the one that John had forgotten existed. Because there was now no world without Sherlock. He had to feel all of the gorgeous man before him. All of him.

"Sherlock, I need-" John breathed out as Sherlock surfaced to gasp for air.

Sherlock dragged his lips along John's jaw. John released a shaky breath as Sherlock traced his mouth to his ear. "I need you." His breath was shaky against John's ear. His stomach clenched and the power of it hurt. It hurt in the best way possible.

"God, yes please. Sherlock, yes." John had no idea what he was saying. His hands crumbled the expensive material of Sherlock's shirt. The material was smooth but John knew it wasn't what he really wanted to run his hands over.

With a surge of courage, he began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock's own hands slipped under the rim of John's loose shirt. John shivered as warm hands slithered up farther and he broke away so that his shirt could be thrown over his head.

Without another second passing, John was seeking Sherlock again. Another shirt quickly joined the other on the floor. When flesh finally touched scale, John dipped his head to run his tongue over it. Sherlock threw his head back and cried out.

The sound went right to the heat that had pooled in John's stomach. His cock was already hard and straining against his trousers. John knew that Sherlock felt the same and having his erection rub up against his thigh made John bite down even harder.

He traced his tongue along the scales. It was a constant reminder of just who he had clinging to him. Sherlock's hands covered John's as they made their way silently over to Sherlock's bed. Before they collapsed down on it, hands came down to play along the hem of John's trousers.

John's hips nudged up and Sherlock's mouth descended onto his as the rest of John's clothes joined his shirt. Finally their bodies joined together on the bed. Sherlock was above him with his knees firmly planted on either side of his hips. John writhed as elegant hands touched him everywhere.

He grabbed for more of Sherlock; stroking his hands along his chest and back. John's fingers rolled over a taunt nipple and Sherlock strained into the touch. John's breathes came out in small bursts as he raised his head to engulf the flushed skin before him.

His hands pressed into the shallow of Sherlock's back and pressed down. Sherlock thrust and his cock rubbed up against hot skin. His fingers curled around sharp hips and John hoped the bruises he would leave marks them would never fade.

"John, John." Sherlock grasped into his hair. John's leg wiggled out and he brought his ankle up around Sherlock's leg; hooking them together.

He wanted it to last forever. Maybe if it did, Moriarty and the others would never come. Sherlock and he could stay wrapped up in each other without the hardships that awaited him. John was so sick of death...

"John, stay with me."

"I will, I will. Sherlock." John stilled his turbulent mind and focused on what mattered.

Their mouths clashed together again and John reached his tongue out to taste more. Sherlock's cock rubbed up against the side of his and John moaned. He panted harder and brought their cocks next to each other again. John's ass clinched up as his motions became more erratic.

John's tongue dragged along sweat slick skin and his hand worked its way up into curls. He had to touch a horn again. John's left hand curled around one and Sherlock let out a stranded groan. His hips ground down harder and John knew he wouldn't last much longer.

"Oh, god. I can't-"

The words seemed to spur Sherlock on and his hips began to move faster. Pressure built up and John's thighs quivered as he thrust up one last time. He was so hard and it was any moment.

Then the dam finally broke and John screamed out as his cock twitched and come covered both of their stomaches. With an open mouth playing along his jaw, Sherlock came and John felt hotness cover his body again.

Sherlock collapsed over him and John's fingers glided up and down his back. Sherlock shivered and placed a gentle kiss on the side of John's jaw.

_We can face this. Together._

John smiled into the hollow of Sherlock's shoulder. The man above him started to nibble at the top of his ear.


	29. Encounter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade's POV

He knew something wasn't right. Lestrade had seen Sherlock and John return to the castle and their body language had seemed tight and strained. The guard looked out over the horizon but he saw nothing to be alarmed about.

Content that there was no threat, Lestrade went back to pacing in the tower. Snow was falling gently and the candelabra shivered. With a sigh, he breathed onto his left hand (or left candle stick) and lit it. He tried not to think about it. No matter how many times the small fire danced in front of him, it still made Lestrade uneasy...he  _had_  just lit his body on fire.

Hours later, his eyes began to drupe and the guard's thoughts wondered to a certain clock.  _Maybe I could bring some tea and crisps._ He knew it was just a front to get back inside and next to a real fire. Or maybe an excuse to spend some more time with Mycroft; he really wasn't quite sure anymore.

Lestrade tried not to dwell on that thought too much.  _We enjoy each other's company. That's all._ Molly's mischievous smile crept up into his mind and he shook his head to rid himself of it. _That girl could see anything if she looks hard enough._

With one final sweep of the area, Lestrade got ready to jump down from his perch. Then something caught his eyes, there was a movement on the ground and he gasped.

_It's an intruder!_

Lestrade jumped as fast as he could back to the main rooms. Wax slide down his face and he could feel his pulse thumping. The guard opened his mouth to yell when a boot suddenly connected with him. Lestrade went flying though the air and landed with a clatter on the floor.

He heard a gruff laugh. Everywhere hurt and one of his candles had been knocked out of its cup.  _God, that hurts! Who the hell...?_ He had had all the wind knocked out of him and the candelabra gasped for breath. The intruder made his way of to Lestrade and loomed over him.

"What the fuck are you?"

A boot kicked him and rolled Lestrade over. He opened his eyes open to see a tall man staring down at him. The intruder whistled. "Dragons and moving candelabras? This place is a freak show."

His boot came down one last time and Lestrade was enveloped into darkness.


	30. Encounter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moran's POV

Sebastian quietly made his way down the main corridor of the castle. Years of serving in the military had made even a larger man like him able to move around undetected. That was the point. Just him and Jim; a quiet stealth attack. He had been in favor of it when Jim had proposed it instead of involving the villagers.

It was more intimate this way. More intense and when he killed John Watson it was going to be even more fulfilling. Because no matter what Jim said, he was going to kill Watson. That man couldn't be allowed to live. He would just claim that he stabbed Watson harder than he had planned to in their shuffle.

He had watched Jim fawn over Watson for months. He had seen the doctor reject all of Jim's advances and it had made him furious. JIm Moriarty was a genius and Watson was too much of an idiot to recognize what was being thrown at him. He, on the other hand, knew the advantages of having Jim on his side.

Sure, Jim might be furious, no  _would_  be furious, that he had killed his 'distraction' but it was of no consequence. Time would heal his wounds and Sebastian would be there to help fix him. The two of them together would be unstoppable.

The entire castle was eerily quiet and Sebastian began to wonder if maybe the candelabra had been able to sound an alarm after all. The air was thick and he was sure that they had an inkling to what was to come. Watson and Jim had encountered each other in the woods after all.

Sebastian smiled, he knew exactly what was to come. He shifted into the shadows behind a curtain and waited. He was in the central part of the main corridor; the best place to be. His senses had never lied to him before and they told him to wait here. Sebastian trusted himself and he waited for the golden opportunity to present itself.

He didn't have to wait long as the sound of footfall broke the silence. Sebastian straightened his back and held his dagger tighter. He would make it look like an accident and Watson would never see it coming. Sebastian wondered momentarily if Jim was killing the dragon. He had been worried at first at allowing Jim to take on the beast only but Jim had just offered him a smile and reassured him that 'I can handle'.

The curtain fluttered and in a moment the dagger descended into Watson's upper back. Watson let out a surprised cry and screamed out in pain as Sebastian jabbed it in deeper before pulling it out.

Watson stubbled forward and turned to face him. The fear and shock made Sebastian smile. "Hello."

"Moran?"

Watson didn't sound too surprised, he had been expecting an attack but he hadn't been expecting it to be like this. A sudden, unannounced ambush. Sebastian reveled in it. It had been way too long since he had killed anyone and he was going to enjoy this.

"Jim wanted me to only injure you. He knew you wouldn't go without a fight. I know better though. You won't come at all, will you Watson? Well that's fine, because I don't want you too. I'm going to plunge this dagger into your heart and that will be it. Jim will recover, he'll have me." Sebastian raised the dagger and ran at the other man.

Watson dodged and threw his body to the right barely avoiding the blade. Sebastian let out a laugh. "Good, fight back. I want this to last. Maybe you'll hear the dragon die as Jim kills it."

"Sherlock?" John's eyes widened. His face paled even more from the loss of blood and the fear that was now taking root.

"Do you think I came alone? Divide and conquer. To think you left his side willingly." Sebastian leapt forward and his dagger struck home. It caught Watson right above his collar bone. Watson jerked away and took the knife with him. With a wrench, Watson tore the blade out of his body.

Sebastian eyed him with a tilt of his head.  _A disadvantage but one that can be easily handled. He's losing blood fast._

He could see the crimson blood falling in larger and larger drops from Watson's back and front. He still had power in his right hand but his left would hurt.  _Too easy. This is too easy._

Watson held his ground and the dagger was thrust in front of him like a shield. Sebastian waited for Watson to do something because the longer they stood there unmoving the more blood the other man lost.

He lunged again and John pulled back to bring the dagger home. All it did was slash across his chest and grabbed onto his arms. He held Watson's arms to his sides and the injured man fought with everything he had to give.

Moving his hand quickly, Sebastian took his thumb and jammed it into Watson's shoulder wound. The man howled and Sebastian ground his finger in even deeper. Still Watson's grip on the dagger was tight and Sebastian realized it would take more for the ex-solider to loosen his grip.

His hand gripped Watson's arm tighter and he darted his other hand up to Watson's throat. He dug his blooded thumb harder and harder against Watson's throat. Sebastian saw the other man's eyes begin to flutter and he knew it won't be long.

His entire focus had been on Watson and that was why he missed it. Without warning, something bit into his ankle. He didn't even have time to think, his body moved automatically to look behind him to see what it had been.

Sebastian barely had second to realize it was a clock before steel was digging into his gut. Watson backed up, his hands shaking. Sebastian looked down to see the dagger that was buried up to the hilt in his stomach.

There was no pain and then suddenly reality slammed back into him. Blood was pouring out and Sebastian raised his hands to grip the dagger. He looked back up at Watson the man's face was just as stunned as his own.

He heard a voice from his ankle, "John, John! My god, are you all right?"

His legs began to wobble and Sebastian fell to his knees. "You bastard."

It had only been a momentarily lapse and it had cost him everything. He should have known that that candelabra won't be the only freak object in the castle. All his months of planning to be ruined by a talking  _clock._

Eventually the weight on his legs became too much and he collapsed down onto his side. He felt his blood, sticky and thick pooling at his knees. It wouldn't be much longer. Sebastian's left hand was still on the dagger and with the last bit of bit of strength he had, he plunged it in deeper.

If he was going to die, it was still going to be on his own terms. His vision blurred and when it came back into focus, Watson and the clock were gone.  _Jim._ Before the blackness engulfed him, Sebastian selfishly wished that Jim won't be far behind. Because he would need someone to shake hands with in hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch everyone.


	31. Encounter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

He ran as fast as his injured body would take him. John's chest and back were on fire but it didn't matter. All that mattered was finding Sherlock and keeping him safe. That madman was somewhere in the castle and Sherlock had no idea. John had to warn him.

John didn't hold onto any vain hope that Moriarty wouldn't attack Sherlock. Even though he wasn't a full dragon, he appearance was enough to prove that he wasn't fully human either. For their first meeting, John had always thought something was off with Moriarty and Moran; he had just had no idea how deranged they actually were.

John and Mycroft reached the stairs leading up to the Sherlock's chambers.

"John!"

John was stilled momentarily by Mycroft's shrill plea. He looked down at the clock. The clock's face was strained, "I have to go back, Lestrade...he-"

"Go, go! I'm fine." John gave him a quick nod before taking the staircase two steps at a time.

John's heart was in his throat as he threw up the doors to Sherlock's room. The room was empty. For a brief second, John thought that Sherlock had somehow managed to escape. Until he realized that the main glass windows were smashed open.

John's head spun slightly and he fought to keep his balance. He was still bleeding and John didn't know how long he had before he passed out from blood loss.  _Where are they?_ Panic was gripping him fast as he looked out of the broken window. It was rainning, but was more like sleet and John could barely see anything through it.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John screamed until his throat was hoarse, still no reply came.

The panic he had been managing to keep at bay seized John's heart and pulled hard and twisted. John blinked hard. His vision swam and he knew it wasn't long before he collapsed.  _This isn't helping! Think! Damn you, think!_ His thoughts were sluggish and disjoined.

John passed through the broken window and looked around him in the dark. The freezing drops of water were like needled and it jolted John back into a clearer focus. Lightening flashed across the sky and for that brief moment, John caught sight of them.

Sherlock and Moriarty were above one of the many drum towers of the castle. It stretched out at the end of the wall and it overlooked the long drop to the moat below.

There was no way John could follow on the rooftops but he did know where the nearest balcony was located. Using the last of his remaining energy, John ran as fast as he could down the long halls and up the staircase.  _I can't be too late. I have to do something! Anything! Sherlock, you can't die!_

John knew that Sherlock could hold his own but Moriarty wasn't just any opponent. Moriarty was a tricky bastard and not above playing dirty.

Maybe he could act like a distraction, he just had to do  _something._

John flung open the door and made his way to the glass doors. He unlocked them and ran out into the blinding sleet. They were still so far! All John could do was watch in horror as the two men struggled for dominance.

Sherlock was holding his own but it was obvious that he was injured. John flexed his fingers, feeling so helpless. All he could do was watch as they wrestled closer and closer to the end of the drum tower.

The sides were too low and if one of them lost there footing it would barely take a second for one or both of them to fall. John ground his teeth together and fought the urge to call out to Sherlock.

It all happened in slow motion. Sherlock shoved Moriarty and instead of falling against one of the pillars, his foot faltered at the edge.

It was in their body language, neither of them had been expecting Moriarty to loss his footing. Hands bunched in Sherlock's jacket front and John watched, as both men teetered at the edge. With one more stumbling movement, both men disappeared over the edge and John lost all sight of them.

John's hand flew to his mouth and all oxygen left his lungs. He tried to call out Sherlock's name as the men fell but all that came out was a gasp.

And like that, they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum dum dum!


	32. Encounter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a semi-flash back from Mycroft's POV! (If you don't like Mystrade it's okay to skip this chapter)
> 
> Only about 5 (or so) more chapters left! Are you ready for the final leg of our journey?

There was something wrong. Mycroft didn't know what exactly but there  _just_ was and a nagging sensation had been annoying him for a few hours. Mycroft checked the mantel clock for the third time in five minutes. He huffed.  _For being a clock, I really can't tell time that well._

Mycroft put down his pen and decided that he was getting nothing done no matter how hard he stared at his paperwork.  _Maybe I should just go see Lestrade- he's probably at the spiral tower._

He jumped down from his desk, to the chair and then to the floor.  _Lestrade won't mind, I haven't seen him all day._ Mycroft knew he didn't have to come up with an excuse to see the guard, but for some reason just wanting to see the man was too...needy sounding.

Mycroft Holmes was not needy.

Deciding that he could discuss security measures with Lestrade, Mycroft made his way down the main hall. Even though the hall was no quieter than it normally was, something was definitely wrong. Where there had been a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach it now erupted and tugged at the back of his mind, insistently. He picked up his pace and almost broke out into a run.

Scanning the hall, he looked for anything out of place. Up ahead, Mycroft saw something laying on the floor. It looked oddly like-

"Lestrade?" Mycroft hoped desperately that his mind was playing tricks on him.

The candelabra was laying on the floor at an awkward angle. There was a candlestick missing from its holder. Something had gone terribly wrong. Mycroft ran and kneeled beside him. The clock didn't often feel helpless or scared but now that was the only way to describe what was gripping his heart.

"Mycroft. They're in danger. You have to-" Lestrade's voice faltered in and out.

"What?" His mind was going a mile a minute and what was Lestrade saying? What did it matter! Gregory was the one who had been injured!

"Mycroft, he's going to kill them-" Lestrade lifted his empty candleholder. "He went that way. Please."

All Mycroft could do was nod. His throat was too tight to talk. He stood up and tried to convince himself that he wasn't abandoning the broken candelabra.

"I'll be back." His hand glossed over Gregory's cheek before he ran off to warn the others.

Mycroft slowed his steps when he heard grunting and the sounds of a shuffle. He knew he had to make sure that whoever were fighting didn't realize he was there. Making sure his feet made no sound, the clock made his way to the two tall figures in the hallway.

The doctor was in trouble- that was plain to see. He and the intruder were struggling for dominance. Mycroft watched as a hand wrapped itself around John's neck and gripped tighter. Mycroft stood in disbelief at the scene unfolding before him- completely rooted to the spot. Reality finally shifted back into place and Mycroft ran forward. He opened his mouth and bit down as hard as he could on the intruder's leg.

The man barely let out a noise as John shifted forward and then away again. John's face was twisted in complete shock, eyes wide. "John, John! My god, are you all right?

There was a thump. "You bastard." The man's voice sounded tired; defeated.

John looked down at Mycroft and nodded before running off in the direction of Sherlock's room. The clock looked back, still unable to believe what chaos was unfolding around him.

The man who had been attacking John was now laying down in a growing pool of blood. Mycroft stared at him, shocked that there were actually strangers in the castle.  _There's a knife stuck in his stomach. John stabbed him._  It was an unreal feeling, watching someone's life slip away before him. Mycroft stared open mouthed for a moment before he hurried after John.

They reached the staircase and Mycroft called out, "John!" If he went any farther, he worried that he couldn't get back to Gregory in time. Would the candelabra die before he returned? Mycroft pushed the thought aside. He had to keep his calm. Even though everyone was in danger, the only one he could still help was in the opposite direction. While he did love his baby brother- Sherlock had John now.

And Gregory had him.

John turned down to him, almost like he had forgotten that the clock had even been with him. "Go, go! I'm fine." The words had barely left John's mouth before he was bounding up the stairs two at a time.

Mycroft sent up a quick prayer that his brother would be safe before he ran back to the person who needed him most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to figure out what I want to start next. I'm thinking of either MIB AU, Pirate AU, High school AU, Labyrinth AU or Western AU. Which would you like to see? Please let me know!!:D


	33. Encounter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Moriarty’s POV
> 
> P.S. If you see any issues with castle terminology please let me know. I would also recommend watching this fight scene if you have the DVD.

Sebastian had his mission and Jim had his own to carry out. He didn't trust the other man not to kill John but it mattered little. Either way, the creature would no longer have John and that was all that mattered.

After searching the outer grounds with no signs of another living creature, Jim took his hunt to inside the castle's walls. It was hard to believe that there could be a dragon inside, but there seemed to be no other explanation. The dragon was near, he could practically smell it.

Jim slipped through the halls of the castle silently with his bow drawn tight. Growing restless, Jim barged through the next door. Unbelievable there was a man on the other side of it. He was sitting on a settee and he was obviously surprised at Jim's presence.

Except within another glance, Jim knew it was no man he was facing. There were horns and Jim could see red shining on his skin but there was no blood. Without another thought as to who the man was or wasn't Jim let loose an arrow. It hit the man on the back of his shoulder and he let out a howl that echoed in the room.

Before the man had time to recover, Jim tackled him and they both went through the glass doors. Jim scrambled to his feet just in time to brace himself for impact as he was thrown to the ground by the other man.

Even though he appeared to be thin, there was power in his muscles. Jim pushed him off and with another motion punched him in the face. The other man stumbled back a step and in another moment, punched him back. Jim tasted the copper in his mouth and the burn on his cheek. His blood sang with the need to kill and conquer.

This was who he was hunting for and it didn't matter that he had a semi-human form. In any form he would have encountered him in, only one of them would walk away alive. "You pathetic excuse of man. Are you even a man?"

Jim threw another punch and the monster dodged and jumped over the railing to fall onto the roof. He watched as he pulled the arrow out of his shoulder with another growl. Rain was falling down heavily and for a split second Jim wondered if it was wise to jump onto a slick roof.

With a manic laugh, he lept over the railing to follow the other man. He could easily shot another arrow but where was the fun in that? Jim wanted to stare in the creature's eyes as life spilled out of him. Wanted the creature to know in its last few moments on earth that John would be his forever.

Jim let out another laugh. "Do you honestly think he would pick you, when he could have someone like me?!"

It was easier than he thought to tread along the rooftops. With his mind completely focused on killing the monster, he had little time to worry about if his feet would slip. Jim kept his eyes on the prize and climbed over another balcony to chase after it.

The man had disappeared in the shadows. Jim swore loudly. "Come out and fight! Too scared to face me?"

Suddenly Jim realized that his hand was empty. Somewhere between running over the rooftops he had lost his bow. Looking around for a suitable weapon, Jim broke off a part of the castle spiral. It looked like a club and Jim held it firmly in his left hand ready to bash in the monster's skull.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are!" Jim's voice was high pitched and he sang it. There was no mirth in his tone as he walked along the parapet.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jim spotted movement. He turned swiftly and put his weight into banishing the club around him. The man dodged the blow and threw his body forward to grasp the club and the creature made a grab for it.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky and Jim managed to pull the club away from the monster's hands. He jumped forward and Jim found himself at the defensive. They bounded along the rooftop and Jim wondered how much longer the game of cat and mouse would continue.

The man plodded down onto another tower and Jim flexed his fingers, ready to deliver his fatal blow. "Were you in love with him?" Jim raised the hand that was wrapped around the club. "JOHN IS MINE!" Lightning flashed along the sky and for a second Jim could see the rage in the slitted eyes of the man before him.

With blinding force, the creature knocked the club from Jim' grasp. They struggled for dominance. Despite the shoulder wound, Jim hated to admit that he was still equalled in strength to the other man. The rain was near freezing and it bit against the muscles that were tensing up as the fight continued.

The floor of the tower was slick. Although the roof had been slanted, it wasn't slippery as the granite was under his boots. The monster pushed him back and with a heave of adrenaline, Jim pushed back. He raised his heel up to place more pressure onto his toes and push back on his upper body.

That was when it happened. The other man pushed up on his shoulders and Jim wasn't able to balance out the shove with his feet. Jim felt his body start to fall back. He grabbed a fist full of the creature's shirt. If he wasn't going to survive, then neither of them would.

Jim always knew it would end in his death. Maybe not now, but he was never one to imagine that he would die peaceful in old age in a soft comfortable bed. Still he had hoped for another ten years or so; he had survived a war after all. At the very least, he wasn't dying alone. Jim's thoughts wondered to Sebastian. He had never told him how important he was. Oh, well. He knows. Jim closed his eyes and waited for the icy water to wrap around him.

Then he remembered the small hunting dagger at his belt.

Jim's eyes gleamed at he reached for it.


	34. Encounter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: John's POV  
> ::Gross Sobbing::

John stood rooted to the spot. When Sherlock had disappeared, falling off into the void, his heart had stopped. Dr. John H. Watson had seen death and god help him, he had wanted to see more. But never this, not this. Never Sherlock.

With his heart still unbeating, John knew it was breaking, cracking into so many pieces that would never shape a heart again. What was there now? Time slowed and the rain stopped biting into his skin as the blackness below called to him.

It had greeted Sherlock and Moriarty as old friends, would it do the same to him? Would his broken body lie against Sherlock's own cold corpse? It was an irrational hope and a morbid thought but it was the only reality that he could cling too.

He put one foot in front of the other, edging towards the point of no return. A roar echoed across the night air. John held his breath at the sound. It sounded like a dragon.

_Sherlock?_

It wasn't possible he was dead and...

A red flash came shooting out from the void below him. John craned his neck as the dragon flew higher, then it came down, down, down. Sherlock transformed before him, turning human as he fell from the sky like an angel.

John's arms lifted up and he was surprised at how light Sherlock's broken body fell into his outstretched arms. He was on his knees, laying Sherlock on the wet concrete. There was blood on his shoulder and John's own blood mingled with the rain water as it splashed onto Sherlock's naked blooded form.

"Sherlock, Sherlock! Speak to me!" His eyes were closed and even though John could feel his pulse for one unreal second he thought Sherlock was dead.

"He had a knife, I hadn't planned on that." Sherlock's eyes slipped open half way. He was struggling for consciousness and his eyes slipped back, exposing the whites of his eyes.

"This is all my fault." John scanned all the wounds on Sherlock's body he was losing blood fast and there was nothing that he could do to stop it. He had never felt so powerless in all his life. Tenderly, John's hand brushed at Sherlock's wet curls and down the side of his face.

"Maybe, it...it's better this way." The words were gasped out and Sherlock's face twitched in pain.

"Don't ever say that." John's hands shook as a thumb traced Sherlock's lower lip. "Everything's going to be fine." The words were the biggest lie had ever spoken and the platitude was hollow on his lips. With the red rim around Sherlock's wound growing bigger, John saw his own life slipping away.

Sherlock's hand rose and he brought it up to John's cheek. John's hands wrapped around Sherlock's and he kissed it tenderly. John closed his eyes and tried to imagine that the hand he was holding wasn't so cold.

"At least...I got to see you-one last time." Sherlock's voice wavered at the ending and John's eyes flashed open.

Tears began to mingle with the rain drops splashing on John's face.  _No, no, no. Don't say that no! You can't leave me. Not you, everyone else but not you. NO!_

"I love you, John." Sherlock's chest heaved and with a sigh, John watched in horror as Sherlock's life slipped from his body.

Sherlock's hand fell limp from John's and his hands flew to his mouth. It did little to stifle the strangled cry that ripped from his mouth. "No..." John shook his head back and forth. This couldn't be happening, Sherlock couldn't die. He had just told him he loved him.  _Sherlock loves me._ It should have made him happy but all it did was cause John's chest to pull tighter because he had never said the words himself.

"Please, please. Don't leave me." John bent down and his fingers brushed up against every part of Sherlock that he could touch. Bending his head down, John's forehead on Sherlock's still chest.  _Because there's no heartbeat._

John let out another weak sob. "I love you. Don't leave me, Sherlock. I love you."

It was too late but the words needed to be said.

John closed his eyes again and let the sobs rip through him. There was a dull pain from the stab wounds from Sebastian.  _Why didn't he kill me? Why?_

Whoosh. Whoosh. It was an odd sound and John finally heard it over his tears. He peeked an eye open and was amazed to see colored light shooting through the air. White. Blue. Pink. Yellow. They formed puddles on the ground all around Sherlock's body.

The skies were opening up and the clouds began to shine. John's head lifted and he back away as Sherlock's body began to lift off of the floor. His eyes were closed and his head lolled to the side as his wings sprung from his back and wrap around his body.

John watched in shocked silence as Sherlock's body twisted and turned in the cocoon of his wings. Light began to shoot through the glossy wings and Sherlock's head was enveloped in the light.

His horns curled down into his skull and the crimson on his cheeks faded into pale flesh and with one final burst, his wings exploded into a thousand small points of energy before they faded.

Sherlock's body drifted back to the floor, John reached out to him. Before he could touch him, Sherlock stirred. With surprising swift movement for a man who had just been dead, Sherlock stood up, his back to John.

Sherlock lifted his hands up and stared at them. Before John could say his name, Sherlock turned around.

"John."

Sherlock's tone was raw. He took a step forward and John's hand outstretched to him. Sherlock was the same and yet, so different. There were no horns springing up from his curls, his spine was smooth and the crimson scales were all gone...and the wounded bloody dagger mark was healed over.

John's hand landed on Sherlock's cheek and he looked up at the other man's face. His eyes were no longer that of a cat's, still they were striking. His pupils were round and fat. Colors swirled before him and John knew he had never see anything so beautiful.

"You love me." It wasn't a question.

John nodded and tucked a stray curl behind Sherlock's smooth human ear. "I thought you didn't like to state the obvious."

Sherlock's eyes grew wide and John knew he would never forget it for as long as he lived. Without another thought, John's lips sought out the one's of the only person he had ever truly loved.

Electricity surged though his veins and John clung to Sherlock even tighter. The kiss deepened and John heard blood pounding in his ears. Something began to swirl around them and John felt the hairs on his head and neck dance.

There was a explosion over their heads and John saw a flash of light through his eyelids. More explosions cracked overheard and John was reminded of fireworks. He was actually hearing fireworks; God, what this man could do to him.

John remembered that Sherlock was completely nude as warmth began to pool in his lower abdomen and a pleasant heat pushed into his body. His hands worked down and traced the skin on Sherlock's lower back.

He opened his mouth farther, seeking more warmth and Sherlock happily obliged.

John finally pulled away to catch his breath. John blinked as he realized that the sun was shining and the entire castle had been transformed. It was no longer foreboding and depressing, the gargoyles that had littered the castle had been replaced by cherubs and dark granite was a pale pink-white. The rain had stopped and John pulled away slightly to look down at his shoulder.

There was still blood staining his shirt but the flow had stopped. His wound had healed over, just as Sherlock's had done. Blinking once, John looked up Sherlock's face. John was overwhelmed with the need to tell Sherlock everything, even if the man knew already- he had to say the words.

"I love you. I'm never leaving you, please say you want me back." John swallowed hard. It was a desperate plea but he didn't care. Because he had lost Sherlock once and there was no way that he was going to live another second without knowing exactly how John felt for him. "I only want you. Always you. Just you."

"I never thought there could be anyone like you." Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together and his hands cups John's face. His voice was hushed. "I don't think I can live without you." The words fumbled from Sherlock and the confused look on the man's face made John giggle.

"Ah, sentiment." John smiled and placed a kiss on Sherlock's neck.

"John, I've never been more serious in my life. You being with me is vital to my existence now. If you ever left-" Sherlock's voice cracked.

John hugged him tighter. "Sorry. Forgive me. No, never. I'll never leave you again."

Sherlock sagged against him and pressed a messy kiss to his ear.

John grin was so wide it hurt.


	35. Encounter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Molly's POV

The sound of rain hitting the window pane changed and that made Molly lift her head. Where there had only been darkness before, there was now shimmering lights outside. Molly had seen something like it before, almost two years ago.

"Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Hudson!" Molly felt giddy energy surging through her. "It happened! It finally happened." She blinked back tears of happiness.

"What are you going on about?" Mrs. Hudson jumped up to join the teacup on the table next to the window. Molly spent most of her time there being swept away with daydreams and Mrs. Hudson was just getting ready to nag her for wasting time again before turning to the window.

Molly heard a small gasp from the teapot and Molly giggled. "It's different from last time. Before it was so black and red...it was horrible."

Without another word, Molly and Mrs. Hudson opened the latch to the window. When it opened, Molly dipped her head out and the small teacup filled with pearls of light. The liquid tinkled against Mrs. Hudson's spout and she let out a yell as her body began to morph back.

Molly gasped as her body began to grow. She stared down at the hands she hadn't seen in so long. With hands to her face, Molly turned to face the human form of the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Hudson! We're human again!"

The two women hugged.

Molly looked out the window and the whole sky was gleaming with a sparkle she had never seen before. It was so beautiful. She clung to Mrs. Hudson even tighter. "Look at it." The older woman turned in their embrace and looked out at all that was happening.

"Sherlock, my dear boy. My boys." Mrs. Hudson let out a happy sob and they both began to laugh. Molly couldn't remember the last time she had felt so carefree.


	36. Encounter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Mystrade!

Mycroft cradled Gregory's head in his lap. He had contemplated moving the candelabra but decided against it. All Mycroft could hope was that the both men had survived and they would come back to help them. Even though he hated to need his brother's help, Mycroft was desperate.

His head was bowed deep in thought. With Gregory's even breaths steadying him, Mycroft tried to sort all the things he needed to tell to his captain of the guard. It wasn't the words, it was the emotions about it all. Who was he to tell Gregory he had feelings for him?

The constant splattering of rain against the bay window stilled and Mycroft looked up. There was shining light spilling out of the sky and for a moment the clock held his breath in disbelief. Everything was otherworldly in its glow and Mycroft couldn't believe that it had been raining only moments before.

He moved as if in a dream. Mycroft had no idea he had stood up until his hand was posed to open the latch the window. Biting his lower lip, the clock lifted the latch and pushed the window open.

Jets of light splashed in and Mycroft closed his eyes. His face warmed and Mycroft knew he was changing back without needing to see it. Outstretching his arms, he pooled some of the light into his now human hands.

Walking back to Gregory, he gently splashed the water onto the candelabra's still form. He was so small and looking down at it, Mycroft was struck with just how unreal it all seemed; like a strange dream that was finally coming to an end.

Gregory's body glittered and wrapped in a white light. Mycroft averted his eyes and when he looked back the prone form of a man greeted him. Letting out a small cry of relief, Mycroft rubbed his fingers along Gregory's soft skin.

Gregory began to blink. His vision cleared and he looked up at Mycroft. "Can it be true?" A smile began to tug up at Gregory's mouth. All Mycroft could do was nod his head.

"I thought you were going to die." Mycroft's voice was thick in his throat.

Gregory leaned his head into Mycroft's hand. "I'm sorry, I worried you."

Mycroft let out a relieved laugh. "Just don't ever do it again."

"I won't." Gregory's head turned and he kissed Mycroft's palm.

"I can't believe its all over."

Gregory nodded and his eyes became suddenly distance.

Mycroft was flooded with memories of what their relationship had been before Sherlock and the whole castle had been enchanted. They had barely spoken to each other once every few days and Mycroft never paid the guard any attention. Mycroft cringed at the thought of ever going back to the way it had been before. Gregory mattered too much to him now.

"Not everything needs to go back to the way it was before." Mycroft steeled himself. "Gregory, your friendship has mattered to me more than anything over these last months. I want to continue to be your friend...and if you'll have me, I want to be so much more."

Gregory's face widened in a smile and Mycroft knew his own face had a ridiculous smile plastered on it. Reaching up a hand, Gregory took a fist full of Mycroft's shirt.

"I forgot how posh you dress." Gregory's expression grew serious. "I had only wished you could feel the same for me, Mycroft.

The older Holmes brother thrilled at the sound of his Christian name. Everything was so perfect and Mycroft hoped that John could bring his brother a fraction of happiness that Gregory could bring him.  _Sherlock wasn't the only one who needed saving._

Lowering his head, Mycroft brought his lips to Greg's. It was a gentle pressure and Mycroft knew he had never felt anything more perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be mostly likely one steamy chapter and then an epilogue.


	37. Encounter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: John's POV
> 
> ...We're almost there!
> 
> Sexy times
> 
> I got my first fanart for this fic! The lovely artist is keeblo! She has an account on deviantart- the title is "Sherlock the Beast" please check it out on art/Sherlock-the-Beast-382726613 She is amazing!

Thankfully, Sherlock dressed before they met with the others. John stared in open mouthed amazement at the four people who stood before him. With Sherlock, he had known what he looked like. Some scales and horns really didn't change a person too much. The others...it was like meeting them for the first time.

Mycroft had on a three piece suit that seemed oddly fitting for the uptight man. It was a beautiful brown color with a yellow tie; there wasn't a spot or wrinkle on it. Mycroft's mouth was twisted up in a smirk- John tried not to blush  _too_ deeply at the knowing look. It was foolish to want to keep his and Sherlock's relationship a secret but John would be lying if he said he wasn't embarrassed when he realized that everyone knew they had proclaimed their love to each other.

Lestrade was taller than John would have imagined and the guard was standing surprisingly close to the older Holmes brother. John flashed the graying man a smile. He was so relieved that whatever had threatened Lestrade, and had had Mycroft running to him in panic, had been fixed by the enchanted rain.

Molly was a sweet girl with mousy hair. Her expression was open and he returned her hug with equal force. She looked as if she might cry when Sherlock gave her a hug too.

Mrs. Hudson was already crying. She gave them a watery smile and then hugged the both of them. Turning to Lestrade and Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson sighed contently. Mycroft blushed lightly. John smirked.

Sherlock looked as if he wanted to say something but it was thick in his throat. His adam apple bobbed up and down, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and gave it a squeeze. John could barely imagine what it must be like- so many emotions flooding a man who proclaimed to have none.

 _Seeing all of his family human again_   _must be really eye-opening. Was Sherlock worried that he would never see this day?_ John's finger's interlaced with Sherlock's. It made John's stomach turn to think of the guilt and doubt he must have hidden from all of them.

"I'm happy we're all back to normal. I- I deeply apologize for the way that I acted towards everyone." Sherlock bowed his head and John knew it was difficult for him to admit how he had acted was wrong. "I was selfish and I realize that now. I'm sorry you all had to be punished for my actions."

Mrs. Hudson let out a small cry and wrapped her arms around Sherlock again. He patted her awkwardly on the back as she cried on his shoulder. "Oh, Sherlock. You've grown-up so much!"

"Yes, do try and be more considerate in the future." Mycroft's voice was clipped but there was no real heat in it.

"I could say the same to you." Sherlock said.

Mycroft pursed his lips and Lestrade let out a bark of a laugh. John tilted his head to the side not quite understanding the meaning of all that was transpiring but happy nonetheless.

* * *

 

"What was that all about?"

Once he and Sherlock were back in the main room, John couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. Sherlock gave him a knowing smile and he sat down on the chair closest to the fire.

"Mycroft and Lestrade."

"What about them?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. John only let out a small gasp. After shaking his head, John sat down between Sherlock's legs. He leaned back and Sherlock threaded his fingers through John's overgrown hair.

"You might need a haircut soon. Although I do love your hair, it might be tickling your ears." Sherlock's fingertips pressed into John's scalp and he hummed in contentment.

"I can't believe how ridiculous this day has been and you're worried about my hair." John laughed and stretched his legs out.

"I believe I might be acting 'domestic'. Don't worry, it will be a rare occurrence, that's if it does happen again."

"Yes, yes. I got it."

John breathed out deeply. It all seemed so unbelievable. Only a few hours earlier his entire world had been falling apart around him. Now it was back to normal or at least what 'normal' had become for him.

"It's been quite an evening." Suddenly, John felt oddly out of place. What now? The spell was broken...

John's head was tilted up and warm lips covered his. Hands flew possessively to shoulders as Sherlock's mouth roamed over John's. Sherlock's mouth was savage in its intensity. Teeth clashed and John's mouth was quickly opened and invaded. Sherlock's tongue explored and took, took, took- claiming every part it could touch.

Finally when they were out of breath, Sherlock pulled away.

Panting deeply, Sherlock looked directly into John's eyes. "Don't ever think that again. I don't want you to go anywhere. I want you here with me. Forever. You can never leave. Never. We promised; I love you. No one but you- ever."

Something that had begun to coil in John's chest released and there was only the warmth flooding though him again. "I'm sorry." There didn't seem to be more he could say or that needed to be said. John placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, they glinted deeply. "Now, what I wanted before. John, I need you. All of you. Tonight."

John's eyes darkened. "I think it might be time to retire for the evening."

Standing up, John extended his hand to Sherlock.

* * *

 

They had barely shut the door before their bodies connected. Sherlock pinned John against the wall. Fingers pressed into his arms and John brought his hands up to scratch down Sherlock's back.

John's mouth moved down to press up against Sherlock's jawline.

"Sherlock, thank you."

Sherlock's eyes readjusted trying to see John through the haze of lust. All he could do was raise his eyebrows.

"For everything, for you-us. Everything I never knew I needed. I don't know how much longer I would have lasted. You saved me."

Sherlock's eyebrows knit together, then his mouth relaxed. "I know. Come here." Lifting up an arm, he pulled John in for a tender kiss. Despite the pure desire pumping through his veins, John's heart swelled and it hurt- how much he loved Sherlock filled every fiber of him.

"John, please." Sherlock rumbled as he parted their lips and ran his tongue over John's lower lip and inside to slide along his bottom teeth.

Making their way over to the bed, John pulled his shirt off. Sherlock took off his own clothes and let John push him down onto the bed. Hands explored and Sherlock drew up to met John's caresses.

"I want to take it slow, but not tonight. I need this now. Us together." John whispered as he bit down on the bottom of Sherlock's ear.

The man under him nodded and John sat up so that he could grab the needed ointment from the nightstand. Slicking down his fingers, John's fingers rubbed across Sherlock's tightness. He waited for him to be completely covered before slipping his first finger in. The heat was incredible and John knew that he couldn't go slow even if he wanted too.

Giving Sherlock a moment to adjust, John started to move his index finger in and out. Sherlock moaned and opened his legs further. With that signal for more, John slipped another finger inside.

John's breathing picked up and his watched as his fingers moved, disappearing into the incredibly man that was Sherlock Holmes. It was hard to believe that he could stretch Sherlock enough to take him, but after the three finger, John knew he was almost ready.

"God, John, please." Sherlock moaned as he pressed down on the fingers opening him up.

John drew back and placing one hand on Sherlock's thigh. He placed a quick kiss on the side of Sherlock's hip. Taking his fingers, he centered himself in front of the other man.

Gently, John pushed himself into the warm heat that his fingers had just stretched. Sherlock groaned and John thrust in deeper. With fingers groping blinding, Sherlock pulled John down so that their breathes could mingle.

Sweat slick foreheads met and John pushed farther until he was buried to the hilt. He waited for Sherlock to adjust; hands gripped his shoulders tight. Eventually Sherlock's body loosened and the tenseness dissolved into a need for movement.

John's hips rolled forward and Sherlock's legs clenched around John, his ankles digging into his back. Breathing shallowly, all John could do was focus on the hot heat that enveloped him. Bringing a hand up, he rubbed a sweat slick hand along Sherlock cock. Pre-come glistened and John's thumb dragged over his tip.

"Oh, god! John!" Sherlock moaned. It barely sounded human and it made John's cock harder.

They moved together, each moving in perfect unison. As John thrust forward, Sherlock's body slide back bringing the full length of John into his body over and over again. John's hand lost its rhythm as his whole body shook as his orgasm finally gripped him.

John's body stiffened and thighs clenched as he spilled into Sherlock. John's fingers dug into Sherlock's hip and his left hand clenched Sherlock's cock tight. With the extra pressure, Sherlock thrust his hips up into the fist. As John was coming down, Sherlock came all over his stomach with a groan.

John blinked the hazy out of eyes to see the debauched view before him. Sherlock's entire body was flushed and John was reminded of the crimson scales that no longer covered the other man's body.

Kissing both of Sherlock's knees, John waited another long moment before drawing out of Sherlock. John bent down and picked up his shirt to clean off Sherlock's wet chest. After he was done, John threw the soiled shirt to the ground and snuggled up to Sherlock's limp body.

"You won't mind if I slept for a bit?" Sherlock yawned.

"Not in the least." With a quick kiss to Sherlock's chest, John closed his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

 

"So, what now?"

"Yes, what now indeed." Sherlock's finger traced a lazy figure eight along John's upper arm. He wiggled closer into the warmth of John's shoulder. Sherlock's hair tickled John's nose and he let out a snort.

Grabbing for Sherlock's hand, John inspected the red band around his ring finger. He had caught sight of it before but had been too preoccupied to ask about it. It almost looked as it was part of his skin, that it wasn't a ring but a small circle of left over scales.

"What's this?"

Sherlock brought his hand up to look at his ring finger. "I don't know for sure yet but I do have an inkling that it might be a gift."

"A gift?"

"I've never been one for optimism, however. I believe that the warlock might have taken a 'pity' and bestowed upon us a small token."

John's eyes grew wide as comprehension dawned. "It can't be. You don't think-?"

It was nearly too much to be believed.

"Would you?" Sherlock's eyes were clear and honest. John could barely believe that his lover and best friend even felt the need to ask him; he would go anywhere Sherlock asked him to now. There could not be one without the other.

"Idiot."

"I love you, too."


	38. Encounter 38 EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. Guys this is it, the epilogue. We did it. I can't believe it! I just wanted to say a huge THANK YOU to all the people who have commented. It really kept me updating. I will continue to work on all of my other fanfics.
> 
> Thank B-bot828 for the fantastic prompt! I owe it all to them!
> 
> Keeblo gave me the best fanart ever!
> 
> Thank you everyone for the constant support!
> 
> If anyone has an ideas for AUs I would love to hear them. I will always give you your due and I promise not to steal any ideas. Or if you just want to chat about Johnlock AUs I'd love to talk here or on tumblr! Thanks :D
> 
> Epilogue: Mycroft's POV

Mycroft sighed. It wasn't a distressed sigh but rather one of utter contentment. He still couldn't believe everything that had transpired in the few short months after the enchantment had been lifted. Although, if he was honest with himself, maybe it all had started over two years ago when the warlock had visited their castle.

Mycroft stole a look at the guard that was softly dozing off in an overstuffed armchair next to the fireplace. Gregory still walked the boundaries of the castle but since the enchantment had been lifted it was much easier to tempt him inside.  _Tempted in more ways than one._

Mycroft put his pen down and glanced out the bay windows in his office. It was hard to believe that his baby brother and John had already been gone for close to two months. He had always thought that Sherlock would be the one to stay and mind Baker castle, but he couldn't make the two of them stay once they had realized the full power of the red ring that encircled Sherlock's wedding finger and the blue one that had appeared on John's finger a week later.

The warlock had been more forgiving and giving than Mycroft would have ever thought. The power to transform into dragons at will. John had cried with joy and although Sherlock would never admit to it, he had been been overwhelmed at the precious gift that was bestowed on them.

After that, there was no question that the two of them would leave the castle and seek out their new lives elsewhere. With the power to transform into a pair of dragons, they now had the world at their feet. Mycroft would have never thought that he would accept being the one left behind. But now that he had someone to share it with, it was less of a punishment and more of a gift.

John had promised to keep in touch and despite the fact that he hadn't gotten any word yet, he was sure that the doctor would be better about writing letters than his brother. Neither of the Holmes brothers had ever considered themselves able to count patience as a virtue but Mycroft would wait for the correspondence. It seemed like a small price to pay for all the happiness that had been blessed upon them.

There was still paperwork to do, so the government worker's idleness only lasted for a few more aimless minutes. He would have never allowed himself even that in the past; however, Mycroft was learning to stop and 'smell the roses'. It was still difficult, old habits die hard but with Gregory's help he was learning to love the world outside of his office. Mycroft took a sip of lukewarm tea before diving into his paperwork again.

It was some time later before Mycroft's head popped up at the sound of the grandfather clock chiming six. He was happy that his own 'body' no longer chimed at the hour. It had been most inconvenient. Taking of his reading glasses, he stood up and stretched his back and legs.

Gregory was still sleeping soundly in his chair. Mycroft's face softened and he made his way over to the guard. He stared down him and smiled knowing how Gregory was going to complain about the creak in his neck when he woke up. There was never any real fight behind it though. Mycroft's long fingers came up to brush lightly over the closely cropped gray hair.

Kissing Gregory lightly on the top of his head, Mycroft breathed in the earthy smell that he had come to associate with the guard. It was truly embarrassing the way his heart swelled in contentment and joy. The soft hair tickled his nose and Mycroft's smile grew wider. It was positively shameful how happy the other man made him.

A soft knock at the door broke his thoughts about the sleeping man. "Come in."

Mrs. Hudson opened the door slowly. "There's a letter for you. From John and Sherlock." Her face was aglow with anticipation.

"Come in. We'll read it together."

Molly bustled in behind the housekeeper. Mycroft gentled nudged the sleeping guard awake. It only make sense for them to read the letter together- as a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write a naughty chapter with voyeurism and the mirror. Because Sherlock would never watch John as he, hum- well, you know. 
> 
> Anyone want me to write it? ::wink:: 
> 
> Let me know!


	39. Encounter Extra Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock watches John with the mirror with some interesting results. 
> 
> Naughty, Naughty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voyeurism at its finest ladies and gentlemen.

He tried not to think of it as spying. If anything, the only reason Sherlock was checking up on John using the mirror was because he was afraid that the other man would try and escape...that was the  _only_ reason.

Sherlock's heartbeat did  _not_ become faster and he certainly did  _not_ get a thrill at saying, "Show me John Watson."

The mirror's surface swirled and Sherlock's reflection was replaced with the sight of John laying on his bed. He looked as if he was asleep and Sherlock's face fell.  _I'll just watch for a few minutes._ It couldn't hurt anything, could it? And besides, as Lord of the castle, Sherlock owned the right to see John whenever he wanted...even if John wasn't aware of it.

John was still for only a moment then his hand began to trace up and down his chest. Sherlock looked on transfixed as John's fingers brushed up and down his chest and farther towards his abdomen. Sherlock's mouth went dry.

John's eyes barely opened. They were heavy and he looked completely relaxed. John's hand finally went down to his crouch and it gently move along the bulge that was beginning to form.

Sherlock couldn't peel his eyes away from the enchanted mirror as he watched the scene unfold. He never would have ever thought he would see John do this. Still that didn't matter because now that he had seen the beginning, Sherlock knew he won't be able to put the mirror down until John either stopped or-

With a deep blush spreading over his cheeks. Sherlock watched transfixed as John started to open his trousers.  _I shouldn't be watching this. If John ever found out I watched him..._ Whatever logic his brain tried to throw at him it didn't matter. Too much blood was being redirected to his groin and Sherlock's brain soon stopped trying to offer any resistance.

Sherlock's eyes didn't move from the mirror as he walked slowly to sit onto the nearest chair. His legs weren't going to keep up his weight; they already felt like jelly and John had barely even started.

John's eyes had closed again. His hand flicked the button of his trousers open and he slowly brought his zipper down. Opening his trousers, he brought the heel of his hand down so he could apply more pressure to his half-erection.

Sherlock knew that his own trousers had become unpleasantly tight and was suddenly tempted to open them up.  _I'll just open them. That's all. I'm uncomfortable. Yes._ Sherlock wasn't going to touch himself; he just needed to relieve some of the pressure that was building up.

John wrapped his fingers around his now hard cock. He pulled slowly up and his body arched forward into his touch. Sherlock's eyes grew hazy as he watched John touching himself. It was becoming even more difficult for Sherlock to keep one hand planted on the arm of his chair and the other gripping the mirror.

John's tongue peeked out from his lips and licked slowly along his lower lip. Sherlock found himself copying the motion and wishing that it was his own tongue glossing along John's full lips. Sherlock let out a moan and brought his hand to rest on his thigh.

John scooted up and wiggled his trousers down. His fingers played along the blonde thatch of pubic hair before dipping down under his pants' band. Sherlock's nails dug into his thigh as John brought the band of his pants down to expose the top of his erection.

His thumb rubbed up along the head of his cock and Sherlock could see pre-come glistening on his finger.

Sherlock only blinked when his eyes had begun to burn.

Sherlock didn't even realize that his hand had moved to his crotch until he let out a content sigh. How could he not? Watching John pleasure himself was the most erotic sight Sherlock had ever seen. He had no idea another person could affect him in such a way and the temptation to find release while watching it was too much.

There was no denying that he was attracted to John Watson. One would have to be blind not to see the military strength, the straight sure way that John carried himself. Sherlock just had never thought of John touching himself in such an intimate fashion...or how it would feel if John touched him in the same way.

Sherlock's cheeks burned when the thought popped into his head.  _I don't have to wait to know what it would feel like to have John touch me._ He could mirror John's motions; every pull, every stroke Sherlock could do the same to his cock. Without a second thought, Sherlock brought out the tip of his cock from his pants.

There was already pre-come and Sherlock used it to drag his finger along the top of his erection the same way John had only moments before. The thrill of knowing that what he was doing was completely improper, so  _not good_  it had his cock even harder in his hand.

John used both hands to move his pants down until his entire length was exposed. Sherlock promptly forgot to do the same, transfixed at the sight of watching John strip. He had never imagined another person could make him feel so...aroused. His entire body was too warm and every touch was magnified. Sherlock eventually brought his length out and gave it a quick tug, unable to take the ache.

John seemed to feel the same way as he quickly brought his first up and down around his cock. He slowed his movements and his other hand came up to pinch at his nipple through his white shirt; it was bunched up and Sherlock could see all of John's tanned stomach.

Sherlock bit at the inside of lip as his hand moved. His touch was light but the pressure was enough that Sherlock didn't have to worry about orgasming before John. He refused to finish until he had watched John spill himself. Just that thought made Sherlock groan. It was difficult to control all the sensations erupting over his skin and he could come in just a few strokes if he wasn't careful.

John made a fist with his hand and was content to bring his hips up into it. Although everyone was far from his room, John made little noise. Sherlock wondered if it was because John was afraid of being caught by the other residents of the castle.  _Would he make more noise if he was with someone else?_

Sherlock had been able to tell the moment his eyes had got their first proper look at John that he was bisexual. Sherlock had only ever been interested in men, but he couldn't blame John for being interested in both sexes. Sherlock had tried not to think about it too much. Why would John ever want him? But the sight before him was making Sherlock entertain all the desires he had pushed to the back of his mind.

Sherlock brought his thumb up again over the sensitive head of his cock. His hips bucked forward slightly and Sherlock hoped that John wouldn't be able to last much longer. The wait was almost becoming too much. Sherlock's eyes roamed all over John's exposed body trying to memorize every curve.

John brought his legs up and soon his feet where flush on the bed. He thrust his hips up and his movement became heated and erratic. John brought a hand up to his mouth and inserted two fingers into it. He thrust the fingers in and out as his thighs began to tighten.

Sherlock couldn't believe what he was seeing. At the peek of his arousal, John had let all self-restraint go and had properly started to fuck both his hand and mouth. Sherlock let out a growl; annoyed that his other hand was holding up the mirror. Sherlock wished he had moved to the bed as he slipped down the chair, allowing his hips to move easier.

Although John wasn't making much noise, his breathing picked up and Sherlock heard him moan between his fingers. With one final jerk up, John's body stilled as he started to come. Sherlock looked on, transfixed as come splattered against his exposed abdomen and chest.

Biting down a particularly loud moan, Sherlock came. His arse clenched as his body shook with the power of it. His hand was covered in slick come and his pants were ruined. It took another moment for Sherlock to ride through his high and look back at the mirror.

John was already sitting up and pulling off his shirt. He used it to clean up and wiped his fingers on the white material. He put himself back into his trousers and fell back onto the bed.

Sherlock waited until John had fallen asleep to put the mirror down. After that, his eyes glossed over lost in thought.  _What have I done?_ The most troubling thought of all was not the lack of guilt but the new awareness that he had been missing something his entire life and he now knew it was John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! How you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I might add some more chapters later on. About the letter or scenes with the dragons but I make no promises. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from: bbot828
> 
> FANART INSPIRED BY THIS FANFIC 
> 
> [Smuaglock](http://nnaerb-dbz-fan.deviantart.com/art/Smauglock-387887718) by BB on DeviantArt
> 
> [Smuaglock](http://keeblo.deviantart.com/art/Sherlock-the-Beast-382726613) by Keeblo on DeviantArt


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